


Part of the Narrative

by AngelQueen



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Allergies, American Politics, Angst, Babies, Character Death, Courtship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute Kids, Dancing, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Fanmix, Fever, Ficlet Collection, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Ghosts, Hamliza Month, Historical Inaccuracy, Hugs, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Infidelity, Introspection, Letters, Making Out, Marriage, Married Couple, Minor John Barker Church/Angelica Schuyler, Miscarriage, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Music, My First Fanmix, Napping, Piano, Picnics, Portraits, Prayer, References to Depression, Reunions, Romance, Sick Alexander Hamilton, Sick Character, Sisters, Tumblr Prompt, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 44,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27822670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelQueen/pseuds/AngelQueen
Summary: My responses for Hamliza Month 2020.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Comments: 93
Kudos: 93





	1. Rest

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't use today's prompt in this one, since nothing was coming to me on it, so I came up with this instead.
> 
> 1\. **~~Baking~~ Rest**
> 
>  **Summary:** Alexander returns to Albany after Cornwallis’ surrender at Yorktown.

The Pastures have never looked so inviting. The chill of the evening has settled well into his bones, and Alexander cannot suppress the occasional tremors that pass through his limbs as he rides closer. There care candles in the window, and even from a distance, he can see the parlor lit up from within, can see even figures moving inside.

The Schuylers are home this evening.

Alexander’s horse comes to a halt just a short distance from the house, near the stables. One of the stable-hands appears from inside the building. “Colonel Hamilton, sir!” The young man – his name escapes Hamilton at the moment – says, surprise clear on his face. “We wasn’t expecting you for another day or two!”

Alexander manages a tired smile. “I was in a hurry to be home.” It’s true. His journey from Yorktown to Philadelphia had been beset by delays, and as such he’d been impatient to leave the city when he had finally gotten there, much to the dismay of several officials who had asked him to pass on letters while he made his way north. He’d hardly left them any time to actually write said letters. He’d then proceeded to set such a brisk pace that he’d worn his horses out, forcing him to hire others when he reached Red Hook.[1]

Throughout it all, he’d had but one thought driving him – to return to Betsey. He had seen the war through, as he had intended. Oh, many say that the war isn’t over, and while that is technically true, Alexander knows that for all intents and purposes, it is true. Cornwallis’ surrender has hobbled the British’s ability to continue to make war in their former colonies. Sir Henry Clinton will not be able to mount much of a campaign from New York. So really, all that remains is to negotiate.

But that is not Alexander’s business. He has gained the glory he craved, the glory he would need to rise above his station. Now, he is more than ready to leave the position of soldier behind him. He trusts Washington to see the rest through.

Now, Alexander wants nothing more than to see his wife, the wife he has not seen since the summer. 

The wife who carries their first child.

Alexander slowly dismounts, wincing at the painful jolting of his stiff, exhausted body. Leaving his exhausted horses to the care of the stable hand, he takes his pack and begins the trudge up the hill toward the front door of the house. 

He is almost there when the doors suddenly fly open. Looking up at the doorway, Alexander spies his father-in-law. Shock and then pleasure spreads across the older man’s features. “Hamilton!” he greets him jovially. “You made it!”

Alexander returns the smile as best he can, struggling to stand against his fatigue. Stumbling up the steps, he comes into the main hall, and almost instantly finds himself surrounded by the family. There is Mrs. Schuyler, her eyes sharp and searching, but still pleased to see him. Then there is Angelica, Peggy, and all of their brothers - _his_ brothers too, Alexander reminds himself as he greets them. He does his best to answer the rapid-fire questions they throw at them, but he knows he’s hardly giving them the most thoughtful of responses. The ability to think is rapidly deserting him.

It takes him several moments to finally see past them all, his eyes coming to rest on the one person who had not come forward to meet him. She stands in the doorway, dressed in a woolen dress dyed a deep claret, with a pale blue shawl draped about her shoulders. Her hands rest at her stomach, which swells against her bodice. 

Alexander’s heart begins to pound, loud in his ears as his eyes met hers. Slowly, he steps forward through the throng of people. His pack drops from suddenly nerveless fingers. “Betsey,” he breathes. 

She doesn’t wait for him to reach her, instead rushing forward to meet him. Alexander catches her in his arms and he hugs her to him tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck. It’s been months since he has seen her, months since he has had more than just the comfort of her letters, months he’s lived with the fear that he could die without seeing her again, without even meeting their son.

But he’s here now, in her arms, her family - _their_ family – standing just behind them, though he hardly cares that he’s making a spectacle of himself. All that matters is that Betsey is here, in his arms, that they’re together, with the war finally behind them. Now their life can truly begin.

It’s then that Alexander feels his knees start to give out. He might have crashed to the floor, but Betsey, even in her delicate condition, is strong. She holds him steady. She looks up at him, her dark eyes bright with tears and concern. “My darling,” she says. Her hand comes up to cup his cheek. “You need rest,” she tells him.

If he hadn’t been so tired, he might have argued with her – which, really, proved Betsey’s statement. Alexander has no strength to resist her, however, and soon enough he finds himself being led up the stairs and into one of the several bedrooms. It is Eliza who aids him out of his worn and dirty uniform and into a clean nightshirt. It is Eliza who keeps him awake long enough to sip down a bowl of warm, hearty broth sent up by the wise Mrs. Schuyler. It is Eliza who sits next to him on the bed and allows him to stroke his hand over her swelled belly, greeting their son for the first time.

It is Eliza who Hamilton clings to as he finally, finally rests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] A lot of what Alexander is alluding to about his trip comes from Michael Newton’s research into the timeline of Hamilton’s journey from Yorktown to Albany after Cornwallis’ surrender. It’s an absolutely fascinating article, which can be found [here](http://discoveringhamilton.com/alexander-hamilton-yorktown-to-albany-1781/).


	2. Painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza contemplates a portrait of Alexander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. **Painting**
> 
> Double drabble.

It is one of the better portraits that has been painted of her husband. Painted from life. Eliza even remembers him sitting for it. 

She peers closely at the portrait. Eliza has lost count of the times she has gazed on this portrait. Perhaps nearly as many times she has spent staring at his bust. 

He is no longer a young man here. His face is fuller, rounder – a result of the many regular meals he’d partaken in, something so often denied him during the war. But, as ever, it is Alexander’s eyes that draw her in. Mr. Ames had not captured their unique color – no one had ever managed to – but oh, he had captured their expression _perfectly_. 

Even now, Eliza can see the sorrow, the guilt. It had been painted hardly a year after they’d lost Philip, and still he had yet to pull himself back together.

(He never had a chance to, really.)

Mr. Ames had captured her husband’s agony, made it immortal. It hurts Eliza to look at it, but the pain is necessary. She cannot, will not forget what he looked like. She must remember, so that she knows him when her own time comes.


	3. Trunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza goes searching for something in the attic of the Grange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3\. **~~Seashells~~ Trunk**

Eliza stands at the top of the steps, holding up her candle to shed light on the dark attic. It takes several moments, but she eventually finds the object of her search. Kneeling down, wincing as her knees protest the movement, she brushes the coating of dust off the top of the trunk. The lid creaks as she slowly heaves it open to reveal its contents. 

There is very little inside the trunk, despite the fact that there is a great deal of room for storage. But each and every item there is important, filled with meaning.

The letters are old and brittle, but bound with care. The ribbon tied around them is old and faded, but Eliza recognizes it as though was brand new. How many years now had it been since she had given Alexander that ribbon, when they were young and had their lives ahead of them as they walked amid the snowdrifts at Morristown?

And those letters. Though it has been years since she wrote them, Eliza can still recall their contents. They’d been written during those hard, hard months of separation before their marriage. So much had happened in those months. Even now, she can remember the chill that had swept over her when she had first heard of Benedict Arnold’s treachery and quickly came to see just how close their cause had come to ending in disaster. She had known then, as she still knows now, that had Arnold’s mischief gone unchecked, it is just as likely that he not only would have handed West Point over to the British, but General Washington and his entire retinue as well. Which would have included Alexander. 

Alexander’s words of the incident and, later, of Major André’s execution had left their mark on her. Now, she sees the letters she’d written back to him all tied together with a ribbon given by a girl in the throes of love, and wonders if perhaps her own words might have impacted him just as deeply?

Eliza’s eyes drift from the letters to a blue coat. Oh, how handsome Alexander had looked in his buff and blue. She reaches out to the fabric. It has been locked away for so long now, perhaps moth-eaten, but from here it looks as good as new, as though waiting for its owner to don it once again to go to war.

She lifts the coat out of the trunk, peering at what lies beneath, and gasps. With trembling fingers, she lifts the folded handkerchief from the bottom. Eliza knows this handkerchief. She still has the matching one. Her fingers rub over the embroidery she had created with her own hands so long ago, her eyes blurring with tears even as she smiles. 

Her wedding gift is still as beautiful as she remembers it being. And suddenly, Alexander’s smiling face is so clear in her mind’s eye that he might actually be standing right before her.

“Mama?” Alex calls from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you up there? Did you find it?”

Eliza hurriedly brushes the tears from her wrinkled cheeks. “Yes, dear,” she replies, her voice a little hoarse from both dust and emotion. “I found it.”

His feet thud loudly on the steps as her oldest son enters the attic behind her. “Oh good,” he says. “I’ll take it downstairs for you then. One of the wagons has returned, so there’s plenty of room for it.” He looks around. “Is there anything else that you want from up here? I can send my nephews up here to bring them down here for you.”

Eliza looks around. In truth, there isn’t much left that she wants. Many of her Alexander’s papers had been stored here, but they were among the first things to be removed from the Grange to her new home in town. All that remains are some miscellanea that really have no use or value. She shakes her head. “No, this is the last of your father’s things,” she tell him. It’s then she realizes that she is still clutching the in her hands. Gently, she returns it to the trunk, laying it atop the coat before slowly closing the lid. 

Alex does not speak for several moments, though Eliza can feel his dark eyes on her back. Her eyes, she knows, set in the features of his father. Her eldest living boy is just a few years shy of his fiftieth year, near to the age his father was when he died. Sometimes, looking at him is like looking on a memory, frozen in time.

Taking a deep breath, Eliza takes her candle back up and stands to her feet. Stepping aside, she allows Alex to come forward and take the trunk to begin the task of transporting it down the steps and out of the house. As he does so, Eliza takes one last look around the attic. 

It’s just an attic now. Nothing left here means anything. She has what is most important – the trunk, her children, and her memories.


	4. Candlelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander falls asleep at his desk. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4\. **Candlelight**

“Alexander.”

He shakes his head, burrowing his face a little deeper into his arms.

“Alexander.”

He groans, not wanting to move, not wanting to open his eyes to the world and leave the sanctuary of his dreams. And such lovely dreams…

Slim fingers brush through his hair, tangling themselves amid the strands. He shivers at the familiar touch, and as wakefulness begins to take hold, he can’t fight the smile.

“Come, darling,” Eliza says, her fingernails scratching lightly at his scalp. “This cannot be comfortable for your back.”

Slowly, Alexander opens his eyes, turning his head towards his wife. She stands next to him, staring down at him and holding a candle, its light a small glow against the darkness of the room. She seems to glow from it, and he doesn’t move, suddenly enthralled by her beauty.

“Who has come to me late this night?” he murmurs. “Venus, in all her glory?”

Eliza blinks, clearly startled by the question, and then she shakes her head, though he sees a faint smile cross her lips. “It’s late, dearest,” she tells him, nodding to toward the window. Alexander follows her gesture and sees that it is indeed late. There is no light in the window, not even the streetlamps outside can penetrate the darkness. 

He sits up and winces as the strain upon the muscles of his back makes itself known. It’s hardly the first time he has nodded off at his desk, but he finds that, as the years pass, he grows to regret doing so. His body ensures that he pays for it each and every time. Still, he looks down at the papers strewn about his desk. “There is still so much to do…” he murmurs, reaching for one of the many letters.

Eliza’s hand is suddenly there, grasping his own and preventing him from grasping the paper. She sets the candle down on the desk, and then her other hand appears at his cheek, turning his head to face her again. Her thumb draws across his cheek, a tender, familiar gesture. “It will all be there tomorrow,” she tells him. “You are tired. Come to bed.”

The offer is enticing, and suddenly thoughts fill Alexander’s mind, ideas ranging from simply stretching out in their bed and him laying his head on her bosom – perhaps his most favorite place to rest – to other, more naughty things. The latter makes a knowing grin cross his lips.

She spots the change in his expression and rolls her eyes. Picking up the candle again in one hand, she then takes his hand in her other. “Come along, dear heart,” she says, tugging him to his feet. “Venus does not like being alone, and she’ll tolerate it no longer.” Eliza raises an eyebrow. “You do not wish to upset her, do you?”

Alexander laughs. “Never,” he vows as she leads him to the door, the glow of the candle lighting their way through their darkened home.


	5. Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander and Eliza begin to put their lives back together in the spring of 1795.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5\. **Flowers**

The gardens are coming alive with the arrival of the spring. While the majority of the gardens around her parents’ home are devoted to herbs and vegetables to fill the tables of those who live in the house and on the family’s land, there is one section that is not. Young as Eliza was back then, she can still recall her father insisting that there be one area of the garden that be given over to the growing of flowers, so that her mother might have some place beautiful and peaceful to which she could retreat. Eliza remembers her practical, sensible mother shaking her head at her father’s insistence, but she also remembers how her mother’s eyes had softened and her lips spread into a gentle, loving smile. That smile was something Catharine Schuyler only ever bestowed on her husband.

Now it is Eliza herself who seeks peace in her mother’s garden. The house is full to bursting, and has been since she and Alexander had arrived with their children a few months ago, when Alexander’s resignation from his post as Treasury Secretary had finally gone into effect. Being quite out of funds, they’d had no choice but to come to her parents, to stay with them until Alexander could reestablish his law practice in New York and resume bringing in an income. It was slow going, but as the warmer months approach, Eliza has every faith that soon enough, they will again have a home of their own.

But the fact that the house is full to bursting still remains. With five children running about, along with Eliza’s youngest sister, Kitty, silence is not a commodity to be found within the walls of the house, forcing Eliza to seek it out-of-doors. 

It is still too chilly to rest in the shaded areas of the garden, but Eliza thankfully finds that one of the benches has a lovely patch of sunlight cast over it. She sits down with a weary sigh, enjoying the warmth against her skin. It is a relief to sit here, and not just for the quiet. 

Though it has been over five months since she lost the baby, Eliza still feels the pain of it, physically, and in her heart as well. The moments of weakness, which had plagued her since she’d recovered from the yellow fever, continue to haunt her. It constrains her, keeps her from doing all that she has long done of her own accord. And when it constrains her, Eliza’s thoughts are inevitably brought back to her lost child. That sweet, innocent babe that Ned Stevens had allowed her to see but briefly before removing the body from the room…

It had been a boy. They had buried him in an unmarked grave in one of Philadelphia’s many cemeteries. Eliza had only been able to bear the visit once, and had nearly bit through her own tongue to stifle the urge to scream, to rail against God for taking her son before he’d even had a chance to breathe. 

How ironic is it that she sits in a garden just beginning to return to life, when all Eliza can think of is death?

* * *

Alexander sighs wearily as he pours over his correspondence. It is difficult work, rebuilding a law practice after over five years away. Though it isn’t hard to obtain clients – his own fame brings him quite enough attention that he receives plenty of requests to engage his legal services – there is still so much to be done. 

He glances around the room, wanting, hoping for some kind of distraction. The room is fitted out very well to serve as an office, here in this outbuilding near the house. His father-in-law has used this building for years to manage his affairs, separating himself from the noise and bustle of the household. General Schuyler’s own office is quite well-situated, and this other, separate room is no different. Alexander is fairly certain that the older man had set it up for his sons, so that they might learn the family business from here. Eliza’s brothers have all no doubt used it in their respective times, and now Phillip Schuyler allows his son-in-law the use of it.

His sight sweeps over the wall, but then stop when faced with the view from the window. Mrs. Schuyler’s garden is outside, but it is not the spring plants that have caught his attention. Instead, it is his wife, who sits just a small distance away. His eyesight is sharp, and Alexander can spot the faint trace of tears on Eliza’s cheeks.

His heart constricts. She is troubled, though he cannot guess what that trouble is. There are so many things that could be the cause of Eliza’s anguish. The child they’d lost, the confession of his betrayal of their marital vows, even just the frustration of being forced back into her parents’ home because her husband is a feckless fool when it comes to their family’s finances. Though, Eliza has never chastised him for that last possibility, which makes him think it is something else.

Five months, and Alexander knows she still dreams of their lost child. He sometimes hears her crying into her pillow at night, trying to muffle the sound. More than once, he has pulled her into his arms and let her sob into his neck, though those times are becoming fewer. Either she is healing, or she is becoming better at concealing her troubles. 

The latter possibility makes him wince. He has had enough of concealment to last him a dozen lifetimes. 

Alexander stands up from his seat, suddenly wanting nothing to do with the work before him. It will keep for a time. He strides from the room and out of the building, into the afternoon sun. He makes his way quietly around the building, toward the flower garden where Eliza sits. 

He’d had hopes when they’d left Philadelphia. Hope that they might put their feet on solid ground and not the quicksand of public service. They had suffered so much during their time there, and Alexander had hoped that by returning to New York, they might be able to start over again. He is rebuilding their finances, and he hopes to have their family installed in their own home again by the end of the year, but there is more to their life than that.

When he spots Eliza, who has not moved, Alexander stops. What is he to say to her? What _can_ he say that he has not already said? He’s lost count of the apologies he’s uttered – for his infidelity, for not being at her side as the time of the birth approached, as he’d been with all of their children. He had not been speaking idly when he’d written to Angelica that he’d blamed his time away with the army, subduing the whiskey rebels, for the loss of their child.[1]

He is not blind to the irony of him, of all people, being at a loss for words.

Looking around, perhaps hoping for some kind, any kind of inspiration, Alexander stops as his gaze lands on the flowers nearby. The path through the garden is flanked on either side by dozens of red, yellow, and pink tulips. Inspiration hits him in a flash, and he doesn’t hesitate. Taking a moment to pluck three of the flowers, one of each color, he then closes the distance between him and his wife, whose back is to him. She hasn’t noticed his approach. 

Alexander comes up behind her and, impulsively, he begins to tuck the pink and yellow tulips into her hair. Eliza startles as she suddenly realizes that she is no longer alone. She turns to look at him, surprise writ across her beautiful, beloved face. “Alexander?”

He smiles tentatively at her and, wordlessly, holds the last tulip, the red one, out to her. 

She blinks at the sudden gesture, but takes the flower. She stares down at it for a moment, and then reaches up to brush her fingers over the other two tulips that have been placed sloppily into the strands of her hair. 

Eliza’s lips twitch into a faint smile, and her dark gaze meets his own. She holds out her empty hand to him, and he takes it, moving around the bench to sit down beside her.

They neither of them speak, just sit together, hand in hand, basking in the sunlight amid the flowers of spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] [Alexander Hamilton to Angelica Church, 8 December 1794](https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-17-02-0407).


	6. Toxic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza arrives at her parents' home in June 1798 to find letters waiting for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. **Toxic**
> 
> **Note:** This one gears more toward history than the musical, and the characters will reflect that. Just an FYI.

_Merit, virtue, and talents must have enemies and is always exposed to envy so that, my Eliza, you see the penalties attending the position of so amiable a man. All this you would not have suffered if you had married into a family less near the sun. But then the pride, the pleasure, the nameless satisfactions, etc._[1] 

Eliza sighs, tossing the letter down on the secretary in front of her. It joins the pile of other letters that she had found waiting for her when she had arrived at her family’s home, her daughter and infant son accompanying her. Because _of course_ there would be letters waiting for her. There are always letters. Hamilton is never one to remain silent, even at a distance. 

She had been surprised to see a letter from Angelica, however. They had seen each other the day before Eliza had left by sloop. Why the need to write the very same evening after her departure?

In all truth, her sister’s words do nothing more than irritate her. _Of course_ her sister would seek to blame all of Eliza’s misfortunes upon others, and not just that, but blame others for Alexander’s own sins. Eliza has spent nearly two decades refusing to acknowledge whatever whispers might crop up about the relationship between Angelica and Alexander (she certainly never gave one grain of credence to the vile suppositions that Alexander had bedded all three of the eldest Schuyler sisters), but she has never been blind to the simmering attraction between them. Eliza has simply always had faith in her sister and her husband to never let what lay between them take them anywhere inappropriate. She has always trusted them.

Of course, Eliza had trusted her husband never to betray her _at all_ , and he had certainly made her feel the fool for that, hadn’t he?

Eliza leans back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. That was why she had left, really. Why she’d had to get away, out of the city, away from all of it. Ten months. For ten months she has endured the virulent attacks of Bach’s rag, _The Aurora_ [2]. For ten months, she has endured both the scorn and pity of the citizens of New York, depending on their political sympathies. For ten months, she has lived with her husband eyeing her like a dog who knows it has done wrong and is waiting its punishment. For ten months, she has had Angelica standing at her side and pouring excuse after excuse into her ears, blaming all of it upon Alexander’s enemies. 

It is the last that truly makes her angry. While she does not deny that Alexander’s enemies have pounced upon the opportunities afforded them, Eliza dislikes her sister’s attempt to render Alexander blameless in all of this. He is not blameless, far from it. He is the one who made the mad choice to write and publish this pamphlet, announcing his sins to the world in an attempt to vindicate himself of the charges of financial misconduct. Alexander chose that path, chose to write about his… affair in excruciating detail, when a few well-chosen words would have been enough.

Alexander is the one who chose to go to bed with another woman in the first place, chose to conduct an affair behind his wife’s back. Eliza will not wipe away the sin of that. She has never been someone who willfully blinds herself to things, and she will not start now. Her husband must and will bear his share of the blame. 

In the end, it all grew too much, having Angelica on one side prattling on about wishing all of the Democratic-Republicans to the devil, and Alexander fluttering around her, wanting to fuss as he so often did after she gave birth but terrified of being slapped down in a fit of temper. All of it left her feeling smothered. She could never have a moment to herself, just to _think_. 

So Eliza had nearly wept with relief when her father had written to her, requesting that she visit him and her mother, and that she bring young Angelica and little William, whom they had only seen once since his birth the previous August. She had leapt at the chance, so grateful for the excuse to get away from New York, from the whispers.

And from both Alexander and Angelica, Eliza admits to herself guiltily. Anything to give her the chance to catch her breath, to take stock of everything on _her own terms_ , not her husband’s or her sister’s.

Eliza looks at the opened letter again, and shakes her head. She ought to have expected this, that her sister wouldn’t be able to resist sending her words after Eliza as she fled. She reminds herself – again – that Angelica means well, and cannot be expected to know that her words have the opposite effect that she intends them to have. 

Angelica has crowed about Alexander’s genius for years, delighted in his every achievement and victory. Of course, Eliza has too – she is proud of what Alexander has been able to do in building their nation’s government. But Angelica has never been cognizant of the costs of his work. She has cheered his devotion to his various plans to build the credit, but has never seen how he works himself to the bone, neglecting his health for it. Eliza has never forgotten that Alexander was the first to catch the damned yellow fever, during that dreadful summer in ’93. He had been so buried in his work, dealing with an obstinate Congress and decidedly unhelpful fellow Cabinet members, that he had worn himself out, leaving his body weak and easy prey for the fever to take hold. It had nearly killed him. 

And that had not been the only time Alexander had been so overwhelmed that he’d been led into bad choices. He’d refused to take a break, to join her and the children in Albany, and had stayed behind in the city. That had been when Maria Reynolds had walked into his life, Eliza recalls with a sickening twist in her stomach.

Angelica has never seen this. Instead, she sees only Alexander’s greatness, and when faced with his mistakes, she seeks to absolve him of it, blaming everything upon his enemies, so that he might remain the unsullied hero she has always seen him as. But Alexander is not blameless. He is a grown man, brilliant about his work, but careless in so many other things. Careless enough that he makes enemies of those who should be his friends, leaving himself vulnerable to attack where he is at his weakest. And it has led them to this, where Eliza cannot help but watch him when he leaves the house and wonder if Maria Reynolds had been his only bout of infidelity, if there are other women standing in the shadows, waiting to step into the light to further tarnish their lives. 

Eliza shakes her head, and gathers up the letters before shoving them into a drawer. Standing up, she leaves the room, trying to shake the thoughts from her head. She came here to think, to clear her head, and she cannot do that if she continues to stare at those pages. She needs to be calm, at peace… so she can decide how _she_ wishes things to be going forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]Angelica's letter to Eliza, commonly known as the "Icarus Letter". I also utilize runawayforthesummer's theory that it was written in June 1798, of which you can see details [here](https://runawayforthesummer.tumblr.com/icarusletter).
> 
> [2] ‘Bach’ being Benjamin Franklin Bach, Benjamin Franklin’s grandson. He was the owner of _The Aurora_ , one of the papers that sided with the Democratic-Republicans and took great pleasure in ripping apart people like Hamilton and Washington in its pages. This is the paper that decided to also take aim at Eliza after the publication of the Reynolds Pamphlet. The oh-so-classy line directed at Eliza about Hamilton ‘lolling in the lap of a harlot’ can be attributed to, if not Bach himself, then to his editors or _someone_ who worked for him. Bach would die just a few months after this ficlet takes place, in September 1798, in a yellow fever outbreak in Philadelphia.


	7. Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I take the children to church on Sunday..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7\. **~~Book~~ Prayer**

_I take the children to church on Sunday…_

The boys follow along behind him in a quiet, orderly fashion, entering the churchyard all dressed in their Sunday best. Alexander does not meet the eyes of many of those still loitering outside the door, despite the deep December chill, instead leading his sons across the frozen ground toward the doors. Reaching out, he pulls the doors open, and steps back to allow the boys to enter ahead of him. Alex goes first, holding firmly onto his youngest brother’s hand, lest William’s high spirits induce him into making a spectacle of himself. James follows but a step or two after, with Johnny just behind him. Johnny, however, stops just inside the door, waiting for Alexander to follow him into the church. 

The family is hardly their full complement today. Alexander had left both Angelica and little Eliza at home, the former being far too much out of sorts to attend services, and the younger being simply too young to sit still for so long. 

And the last of their little troop… well, he is outside, buried beneath the cold, cold earth.

Before Alexander can follow Johnny to the family’s pew, he is stopped by the reverend. “General Hamilton,” the man greets him, his face the picture of compassion and kindness. “How are you and yours faring?”

Just a few short years ago, Alexander would have had to swallow the urge to reply sarcastically and ask how the other man _thought_ they were doing. They had just buried Philip just a few weeks previous. It did not take a genius to understand that the family was a grieving wreck. Now, though, he feels no such inclination. Reverend Lavely is a good man, well liked among the parishioners – which, Alexander admits, is more can be said of the pompous Bishop Moore. Alexander’s own recent interactions with the man have done nothing to improve his opinion. He says none of this, however, but simply bows his head and replies, “As well as can be expected, sir. Mrs. Hamilton is on bed rest per the doctors’ orders.”

Reverend Lavely needs no other words to understand, thankfully. Instead he nods and says, “I will ask that the congregation remember her this morning, and please let her know that she is in all of our prayers.”

Alexander nods and thanks him quietly before moving to join the boys in the family pew. He sits down in the empty spot left for him with a tired sigh. Prayers will do Eliza much good, he hopes, even in her misery-laden state. His eyes go to the cross above the pulpit, but before another thought crosses his mind, Alexander is distracted by a small disturbance to his left. 

“Willie,” Alex hisses at his younger brother, “sit still!”

He turns in time to see his youngest son still fidgeting in his seat. Knowing that this will likely continue to be a problem, Alexander beckons to William. “Come here, lambkin,” he says.

The child needs no further urging and jumps to his feet, all but climbing over Johnny and James in his haste. Alexander stifles a laugh as he notices Alex roll his eyes and sigh in exasperation. He pats his knee in invitation and Willie, delighted, clambers into his father’s lap.

Once the boy is comfortable, Alexander wraps his arms loosely about the boy and says, “We’re here to pray, young man, which means you must be still and quiet, so that the Lord can hear you. Can you do that, be still and quiet so that He may hear your prayers?”

Willie pouts for a moment, clearly disliking the ‘still’ part of his instructions, but then tilts his head, obviously considering something. “Can I play when we get home?”

It’s an understandable question. There hasn’t been much playing, or anything happy, going on at home in weeks. With Eliza needing quiet so that she can rest, all of the children have been forced to restrain themselves to more tranquil activities, a hard thing for a boy as young and energetic as William. The boy has a buildup of high spirits that need to be exercised. 

Thankfully, Alexander has a ready answer. “You and Johnny will be spending the rest of the day with Aunt and Uncle Church, and your cousins,” he tells Willie. “I think they will be happy to play with you.”

It is a plan that Angelica had proposed on her visit just yesterday. Being the mother of several sons herself, she knew of their need to shout and play and be rambunctious. At her home, Willie – and Johnny too – could do so without disturbing their mother, or upsetting their fragile sister.

His looks about and his eyes land upon two familiar figures sitting just a few rows ahead, on the other side of the aisle. Angelica and Church must have arrived before them, since he had not spotted them when he and the boys had first arrived. He points toward them. “Look, there they are.”

Willie spots them and immediately starts wriggling, no doubt wanting to go and greet his aunt and uncle, but Alexander holds him in place, giving him a stern look. “Of course, if you cannot sit and attend to your prayers for your mama…” he trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

The boy, to his credit, catches on fast and he nods. There is no more squirming.

Nothing more is said, and soon enough Reverend Lavely begins the service. The man speaks very well, and Alexander allows his words to wash over him. His eyes fall upon the cross once more, and now that his thoughts are no longer upon securing Willie’s cooperation, they go elsewhere. Back home. Back to Eliza.

She has hardly said a word to him in weeks. Oh, she answers the doctors’ questions about her health, about the baby. She might engage in conversation with her sisters when they visit. She will even speak to the children when they slip into the room to see her. But whenever Alexander comes in, she will either pretend at sleep or, barring that, deliberately turn away. 

In all truth, he is fairly certain that the last time Eliza deliberately spoke to him was _that_ day, that terrible, horror-filled day.

_Who did this?! Alexander, did you know?!_

And there was also that scream, that grieving howl that he knows he will never, ever forget. 

Her health had already been fragile even before the loss of Philip. Fears of miscarriage had been prevalent among the physicians and family alike, with at least one scare. But the shock of Philip’s death had only made it worse, and the only remedy the doctors can think of, the only hope they can give, is that bed rest may preserve both her life and the life of the baby still settled in her womb. 

He vaguely hears the reverend asking everyone to bow their heads and pray, and Alexander does so, though he pays no attention to the rest of the man’s words. Instead, he offers up his own supplication.

_Lord, I do not expect or hope for Your forgiveness for all that I’ve done. My sins are beyond count. I do not ask for Your mercy for myself, but for her. Please, do not ask her to suffer another loss. It was Your will that our son should come unto You, but please, allow this new soul to survive. Let him walk this earth which You have made. Let him know his mother’s love, just as Your son knew his mother’s._

_I do not expect or hope for her forgiveness either. I know I am unworthy of her. But even though I have wronged her, I love her. Please, give me the words to reach her, to aid her in her suffering._

Alexander prays for the rest of the service, opening his eyes only when Willie slips from his lap and Johnny stands up from beside him. Blinking against the light, he glances at his surroundings. Everyone is rising to take their leave. He meets Angelica’s gaze from where she is standing with Church, and she offers him a small smile. 

“Papa?” 

He turns his attention to Willie, who stares at him solemnly. “Yes, dearest?”

“I prayed very hard for Mama and for the baby,” he tells him. “Do you think God heard me?”

It’s a question that haunts Alexander himself. Has God heard his own prayers? 

There is no way to know. Faith is just that – faith. There is no hard, established certainty. 

Eliza believes. Her faith is a cornerstone of her life. 

Perhaps that is enough, for now.

He smiles and leans forward, pulling the boy into a close hug. “I’m sure He did, son.”


	8. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza and Alexander share a moment on their first morning at the Grange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8\. **~~Whispers~~ Dawn**

“Alexander,” Eliza says with a tired yawn slipping past her lips as she speaks, “slow down!”

But he pays her no mind of course, keeping her hand firmly grasped in his as he leads her down the steps of the house. It is not yet dawn, and this has been the first night spent in their new home outside of New York City. It had been a rough night. The children had had a hard time settling in. Angelica had not taken the trip very well, and it had taken a great deal of time and effort to get her to lay down and at least attempt to sleep. Little Eliza had picked up on her older sister’s waywardness and had done as much as she could to be difficult as well. And that was not even beginning to cover the boys. 

Perhaps only dear little Phil had been compliant and undemanding over the course of the journey and in settling down for sleep the previous night.

The morning is thankfully cool, though Eliza knows it will likely not last once the sun comes up. She allows Alexander to lead her away from the house and toward the river, having not the energy to fight with him. He finally comes to a halt under a large tree and faced the east. Much to her surprise, he settles himself down on the grass and begins pulling at her to join him. 

“Alexander, the dew!” she exclaims in protest, even as she bends her knees to follow him to the ground.

He grins at her and replies only, “It will dry, my dearest. Now come. I want you to see something.”

She sighs and does not fight him, settling herself down beside him. “What do you want me to see?” she asks.

“In a few minutes,” he tells her. He continues to hold her hand, lacing their fingers together, a sweet gesture. Eliza finds herself softening, her irritation at being dragged from bed so early beginning to fade. She squeezes his hand, fondness swelling up and making her smile a little.

They sit in silence for a moment, and Eliza enjoys it, letting herself listen to the birds above them, chirping as they begin their own day. But silence is not Alexander’s way, and soon enough, his speaks again.

“My Betsey,” he asks, and she sees an expression that is both serious and tentative cross his features, “are you… pleased? With this, I mean?” he adds, nodding toward the house behind them.

She blinks, wondering where such a question is coming from. This home, this land, has been a hope and dream for her for many years. A summer home, a place they could retreat to during the height of the summer months to avoid the sickness that inevitably rises up in the city streets. She has hoped for something like this since even before he took the post of Treasury Secretary under General Washington. Eliza has never needed anything grand, just something to fit their family and to give them a place to retreat to that does not require a week-long trip by sloop up the Hudson.

The Grange is exactly what she’d longed for, and even more besides. The house and grounds are lovely and fit their family perfectly – a large bedroom for the boys, though little Phil still sleeps in a cradle beside her and Alexander’s bed, a smaller one for the girls, and a lovely room for the two of them. The gardens show every sign of being absolutely beautiful, and there is plenty for the children to do when they are not occupied with their studies. Not to mention, they have an entire floor of the house in which they can entertain their friends and family, which is a delight. 

“Of course I am,” Eliza replies. “It’s exactly as we wanted it to be.” She stares at him intently. “Did I give you some idea that I was not?”

Alexander shakes his head. “No, no,” he assures her. “It’s just…” He trails off, hesitating, and then the grief, the familiar sorrow, falls into place, and suddenly Eliza understands. Yes, the Grange is everything they have ever dreamed of, but for one thing – there is someone missing.

Eliza looks down at her lap, biting her lip against the sudden wave of heartache. It’s true, Philip should be here too. He should be here to enjoy the fishing with his brothers, playing duets on Angelica’s piano, or studying to pass the bar so that he might practice law alongside his father. But thanks to one drunken bout of foolishness, Philip had roped himself into a duel and lost his life for it. 

But he had repented at the end, Eliza reminds herself, and it is of some comfort. Even if the bishop had refused to permit them to mark his grave in Trinity Churchyard, she takes solace in the fact that Philip, even in the face of his physical agony, had apologized and repented his hotheaded behavior that had led to his mortal wounds. He had received communion before his strength had given out. This too comforts her, the knowledge that he will be waiting for her in Heaven, though it still does not lesson the agony of his absence.

She squeezes her husband’s hand again. “He is still with us, Alexander,” she tells him, and is calm in her certainty. “He watches over us all until the day comes that we will join him. So he is here too, enjoying the home we've made.”

Alexander’s eyes are bright and glassy with tears, and his hand is shaking a bit when he raises her own hand reverently to his lips. As he lowers their hands back down, he turns his gaze from her to the river in front of them. His expression brightens and he nods, saying in a hoarse tone, “There. That is what I wanted you to see.”

Eliza turns in the same direction, and her breath catches in her throat. The sun is just beginning to peak over the horizon, casting a golden hew down over the land and the river. There is not yet enough light for the water to sparkle beneath the rays, but nonetheless it seems to almost glow. There are no words to adequately describe it, but the sight is nothing short of astounding. 

She takes a moment to glance at her husband. His eyes too are fixed upon the view before them, and in that moment she sees something so rarely seen in his expression – peace, contentment. Her Alexander, who must always be doing, is actually able to find a measure of tranquility here, to just _be_.

Unwilling to disturb the moment with speech, Eliza turns back to the view. She slowly leans toward him, resting her head on his shoulder. Alexander is completely still for several seconds, and she can feel the surprise rolling off of him, but then he shifts himself so that he can wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her closer to him. He then rests his own head against hers.

They cannot stay too long. The children will soon wake, and little Phil in particular will need to be fed. Although Alexander will not be making the trip into town today, he still has much work to do. Their life is waiting for them, but for right now, they can enjoy this time and just… _be_.


	9. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fever does strange things to the mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9\. **Waking Up**

The fever burned through him, a familiar misery that Alexander had felt before. It was something he’d hoped to never feel again, yet here it was. The Yellow Fever had returned for him. The first time it had wracked his small, child’s body, left him weak and delirious, but in the end, he had won the battle against it. Just not without cost. Alexander had never forgotten waking up in that bed, sticking of sweat, shit and piss, to find himself wrapped in his mother’s cold, dead arms. He’d beaten the fever then, but it took his mother from him.

Now here it was again. Alexander recalled the trip out of Philadelphia. He’d begun to feel the symptoms even before the departure, and thus had insisted on riding his horse, thus separating himself from Eliza and the children as they rode in the carriage. He remembered all but falling off said horse when they arrived at their destination, and was uncertain as to how he ended up making it into the house.

Everything after that came in flashes. Mostly, he remembered Eliza sitting at his side, laying cold cloths on his brow in an attempt to bring his fever down, or all but begging him to drink some warm broth to get some kind of nourishment into his weakening body. Alexander was fairly certain he had tried in the beginning to convince Eliza to leave him there, to not expose herself, but she had stubbornly refused to leave him. Even as their marriage had been all but lying shattered at their feet since he’d confessed his affair with Mrs. Reynolds, she had not left him. 

He had no memory of the children being anywhere nearby, which was something of a blessing. That meant they were being quarantined away from him, to save them from the disease.

Alexander also began to recall seeing dear Ned Stevens at his bedside on several occasions when he awoke. His old, dear friend from his youth, one of the few good things that came out of his childhood.

“Ah, hello my dear Ham,” Ned had said cheerfully the first time. “You seem to have gotten yourself into quite a scrape this time. Don’t fret, though. Good Mrs. Hamilton and I shall see you through.”

Always the optimist, Ned was. That was something Alexander could never quite manage. He’d see too much from an early age.

And so it was proven true again. Not long after Ned started to make regular appearances at his bedside, Alexander found himself sharing his bed. With Eliza. Even in his fever-ridden state, it wasn’t difficult to understand that there was only one reason she’d be there – that she too was sick, and it was simply easier to have them in one place for Ned to treat.

“No, no,” he murmured when the understanding clicked in his mind. He reached for her, wrapping his arms around her shivering form, trying to give her whatever warmth he had. “Not you, my darling. Not you.”

Eliza made no response, being in the midst of a fever dream of her own. 

He looked toward Ned, who sat next to their bed, writing something in a small journal I his lap. “The children?” he managed to ask through his chattering teeth.

Ned looked up at him, peering in his direction through his glasses. “They’ve long since left, Alexander,” he assured him. “Mrs. Hamilton sent them north, to Albany to stay with General Schuyler, when she first started to feel the symptoms. None of them had exhibited any sign of the illness, so it was safe for them to leave.”

There was that, then. Even if Alexander died here in this bed, he could die knowing that his children would live. He trusted General Schuyler to love and care for his grandchildren. He just wished they had left earlier, with Eliza, before she’d exposed herself to him and thus caught the sickness along with him. She’d suffered enough on his account already, and now she could very well die because of him. 

Learning of Eliza’s illness seemed to be a blow to his own health, because after that the symptoms became worse for him. The nausea, the vomiting, the headaches, the pain in his back – it all came at him with a vengeance. Ned seemed to be staying close, treating the symptoms as best he could, and Alexander was almost certain he heard Ned speaking quite often, though the words seemed garbled. But even as he buckled under the weight of it, what thought he was capable of stayed on his wife. She had to live. If God thought him worthy of any answered prayer, he prayed that it was that one, that his Eliza be spared. She was always the stronger one, the more steadfast in her devotion to whatever promise or vow she made. If the Yellow Fever was God’s way of punishing the wicked, then it was quite right that he should take Alexander, but surely he would spare Eliza, who never wavered in her faith. 

But even as he thought that, he could not help but think of his mother. _She_ had never deserved her fate, and yet God still had taken her.

All of these thoughts careened around in his head, ensuring that Alexander did not sleep peacefully. Then, at some point, he felt movement, something shifting in the bed beside him. Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes and turned his head.

He saw Ned first, leaning over and sliding his arms beneath Eliza’s knees and back. The other man then lifted her out of the bed. She didn’t appear to react to the movement, her head coming to rest on Ned’s shoulder, her dark hair falling down behind her in a matted tangle of curls. 

Alexander would later understand that it was a combination of the fever and his own deep-sated, worst fears, but in that moment, a wave of sheer, unadulterated panic shot through him. She was dead. Eliza was dead just like his mother. She was dead and Ned was taking her body away, probably to be dumped in some mass grave for all of the fever’s victims and it was his fault. Alexander had done this, had passed the sickness on to her and she was dead, his children had lost their mother it was his fault, his fault, his fault –

Even with all that was roiling in his brain, all Alexander could do was emit a small, choked moan, tears beginning to well up, and twitch his hand feebly in their direction, a weak attempt to grab onto Eliza, to somehow tie her back to the world. His hand didn’t come close to reaching them, but the sound was enough to catch Ned’s attention, and he paused to look at him. 

The other man looked tired, but his eyes were still sharp. He took in Alexander’s state, and seemed to understand just what he was thinking. He shook his head. “No, no Alexander, it’s not that,” he said reassuringly. “It’s just time for Mrs. Hamilton’s cold bath, to help bring the fever down,” Ned explained. He then turned slightly, allowing Alexander a clearer look at his wife.

Her head still rested on Ned’s shoulder, indicating just how weary she was. But her eyes, the fine dark eyes that had bewitched Alexander almost from the first time he’d seen them years ago, were open. Looking closely, he could see the feverish light in them, a sign that the illness was still very much there. 

Then Eliza blinked, and seemed to try to focus. Her gaze locked with his. “Alexander…” she said, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “The water is cold, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Ned said, “but it will help with the fever.” He started to turn again, likely intending to resume his purpose before Alexander’s interruption, but then he stopped. Glancing over his shoulder, he added to Alexander, “Try to stay awake, Hammie. It’s your turn next, so I can get some fresh bedding on the bed.”

Alexander nodded and watched Ned bear Eliza across the room toward a tub of water. Part of him dreaded getting into the cool water, knowing it would set off another wave of chills, but the greater part of him didn’t care one bit.

Eliza lived. Eliza lived, and Alexander swore to himself that he would do whatever he could to win back her love and respect. God had so far spared them, and if they had made it this far, they could survive the rest. He would do whatever he could to place her happiness first.


	10. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza receives a visitor on a cold, December day in 1780.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10\. **~~Strawberry~~ Reunion**

Eliza wiped the back of her arm across her brow, surveying her work of the past several hours. Every surface of the parlor now gleamed. The winter carpets had been returned to their proper places on the floor after being taken outside and beaten clean of dust and dirt. The various chairs had also been returned to the room after having been given a thorough cleaning, though most of them had been set against the wall instead of scattered throughout the room. This left them in perfect position for when they needed to be moved in place in time for the wedding.

Her wedding. It was finally going to happen. After months of waiting and delays – Eliza would have gladly shot Benedict Arnold herself for his part in that – an urgent message had arrived at the Pastures from Alexander, informing them all of his intent to finally take his leave of absence for his much-anticipated nuptials. The missive had been placed into Eliza’s own hands, and it had sent her into a frenzy of cleaning. The house would be perfect if she had anything to say about it.

Of course, the message had come at difficult time. Papa and Mama were not even at home, having gone to Saratoga with Peggy in tow to oversee the final details of the reconstruction of their summer home there, which had been burned shortly before General Burgoyne’s surrender after the Battle of Saratoga. Eliza had remained behind, left with the management of the household and the care of her youngest sister, Cornelia. Still, she had managed to keep herself busy, overseeing the preparations for the guests that would descend on the house, that her brothers’ room was prepared for their return from school, ensuring they had all of the ingredients for the wedding cake her mother absolutely _insisted_ on serving, and a myriad of other chores.

But here in the parlor, in the room where she and Alexander would marry, Eliza had taken up the cleaning personally. Though the servants had aided her in some of the heavier tasks, like moving the carpets about, she had wiped down every surface herself, removing every speck of dust that she could find. And looking around, she could not help but feel a true sense of satisfaction.

“Miss Betsey?”

Eliza turned toward the door to see Prince, the family’s butler, standing in the doorway. “Yes, Prince?” she asked.

The older man gestured behind her. “Someone has arrived to see you.”

She glanced down at her damp, stained apron and winced. She was hardly fit for company. Still, there was no avoiding it. Hurriedly, she pulled at the strings behind her and said, “Let them in, please.”

“Yes, Miss Betsey.” He turned on his heel and made for the door. Eliza pulled the apron off and looked around the room, but found herself with nowhere to conveniently secrete it until there came a time to send it to the washing. Her other hand suddenly flew to her head, where she had tied a kerchief over her hair. She could feel several loose strands flying loose from her bun and couldn’t help but groan quietly. She was a mess and about to deal with a caller, likely a friend from Albany wanting details about the upcoming wedding. While she had often met with friends in a disheveled state before – mostly when she was younger, and then only to scandalize and frustrate her mother – it was hardly proper of a young woman on the verge of marriage! She –

“Betsey?”

Eliza froze. That voice. She _knew_ that voice. She had not heard it in months, had been left with only words upon words scrawled across the page, but she had not forgotten his voice. Slowly, she turned back to the doorway, her heart pounding loudly in her chest.

Alexander. There he was, standing just outside the parlor, his hat tucked underneath one arm and carrying his bag slung over his shoulder.

Eliza raked her eyes over his form, drinking in the sight of him. She had not seen him once since mid-June, when the army broke camp from Morristown. It had been so long, and they’d had naught but letters to bind them together. Letters, and the love that had grown in strength and fervency with every passing day.

Alexander was much thinner, she thought. Thin, pale, and tired. Oh, she can see the exhaustion in the dark smudges beneath his eyes. The weight of all that had happened since they were last together in Morristown sat clearly on his shoulders. The fighting in the South. The confinement of his friend, Colonel Laurens, to Pennsylvania after his capture by the British. Arnold’s betrayal and Major André’s execution. It was all there, carved into his face.

But none of that stopped her heart from fluttering in her breast like a bird struggling to make its way into the sky. None of that stopped her from dropping the apron to the floor, completely forgotten. None of that stopped the single word that dropped from her lips as she flew forward.

“Alexander!”

He met her halfway, dropping his bag and hat as he did so. Alexander caught her in his arms in an ardent embrace that would probably shock one half of the women in her family, and thrill the other half. Eliza shivered in delight as he lifted her off her feet, twirling her about as she hung on with her arms wrapped around his neck.

After a moment, he settled her back onto her feet and she pulled back to see his face. Eliza raised her hands to cup Alexander’s cheeks, trying to touch every part of his face, to reassure herself that he was truly there, standing in the parlor of her family’s home. She wanted to soak him in, to revel in the fact that he was _there_.

Hamilton, however, had other plans. His own hands came up to her own cheeks, and he leaned in to catch her lips in a kiss so fierce that Eliza felt as though her bones were _melting_ beneath her skin. Perhaps she ought to have been shocked by his ardor – Eliza could almost hear the scandalized shrieks of her more hidebound relations – but she had seen the evidence of it in his letters for months. This is but its physical manifestation, and she reveled in it, shared it, and returned it with her own.

All too soon, the need to breathe forced them to part, but Alexander did not go far. He rested his forehead against her own as they struggled to catch their breath, his beautiful eyes boring into hers with such intensity that she found herself trembling.

“Betsey,” he whispered as he began to brush his lips across her cheeks, her nose, her eyes. “My Betsey.”

Eliza thrilled at her nickname falling from his lips. She leaned in, wanting another kiss, wanting _more_ , when another voice cut through the haze of joy and desire.

“Betsey? What are you doing? Who’s that?”

The sound of her four-year-old sister’s voice was like being hit with a snowball directly to the face. She and Alexander let go of one another immediately and stepped away to a respectable distance from one another. Her heart still racing and her cheeks flushing with heat, she turned to see little Cornelia standing in the doorway, a confused frown on her small face.

“Come here, sweetling,” she said, holding out her hand to the child. “I want you to meet someone.”

Though clearly still confused, the fair-haired little girl did as she was bade and darted forward, her braids flying behind her. She came close and Eliza swept her up into her arms before turning back to face Alexander. “This is Colonel Hamilton, Cornelia,” she introduced. “He is to be your new brother.”

Alexander needed no prompting on what to do. Offering her his most amiable smile, he swept into a deep bow. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Cornelia.” He straightened, and then reached out to catch Cornelia’s tiny hand, kissing it gallantly.

Eliza fought the urge to laugh. _And he calls_ me _a charmer!_ she thought. But his behavior was correct, because Cornelia was delighted. Her dark eyes light up and she broke into a wide grin as she burst into giggles.

Smiling, Eliza met Alexander’s gaze and raised an eyebrow. _So, Colonel,_ she thought drolly, _you have charmed the fourth Schuyler sister. Quite an achievement!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a general note, I'm using Michael Newton's research as a guide as to when Hamilton arrived in Albany in December 1780, and who was where when. You can find his thoughts on the matter [here](http://discoveringhamilton.com/alexander-hamilton-saratoga-december-1780/). Of course, no mention is made of Peggy and Cornelia's whereabouts, so I just took a wild guess and placed the former with her parents and the latter at home with Eliza.


	11. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her time is coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11\. **Ghost**
> 
>  **Warning:** Character death.

Her time is coming. Eliza can feel it. Her vigor has been waning, keeping her from doing things she has done and enjoyed all her life. Just weeks ago, she had been taking daily walks through the city, enjoying the crisp, fall weather. But the drive, the desire to do so had slowly drained from her, and she’d taken to staying in bed more often than not.

Such behavior had worried her dear little Eliza – though, truly, not so little anymore, but a woman grown, widowed, and yet still living her life despite her sorrow, just as her mother had – enough for her to send for the doctors. Eliza could have told them what they told eventually admitted to her, that her long, long life was at last drawing to a close. Her daughter sent word to all of her siblings, scattered from here to New York, but only James was able to come. It saddens her, of course, not to see her other sons one last time, but they know they are loved.

Her breathing becomes more labored. Eliza opens her eyes and looks to her left. James sits next to her bed, leaning forward and holding her hand between his own. He meets her gaze and shifts even closer. “Mama…” he whispers. She can see the gathering of tears in his eyes, though he manfully tries to tamp them down.

Gathering what little strength remains, Eliza squeezes his hand, whispering, “Come closer, dear.”

Obediently, he shifts closer. She smiles, and manages to lift her head enough to kiss his cheek. “You have been a good son, my darling,” she breathes. “Now, it’s time. Let me rest.”

James does not argue, though she notices that a single tear slips down his cheek as he leans back into his chair. He still does not release her hand, however.

Eliza turns her head toward the wall and closes her eyes. She is so tired. She has been tired for days, weeks, no… for _years_ now. Exhaustion has been her companion for so long, though not the physical kind. She has lived a long, good life, seen her children grow and become adults and establish themselves in the world. She has lived to know her grandchildren, and even some of her great-grandchildren. But now the fatigue has overtaken her completely, and she has not the strength to control it any longer. There is only one desire left in her.

She wants to see Alexander.

Fifty years, and she has had only portraits, a bust, and memories to sustain her. Few of the artists ever managed to fully capture him on canvas or in stone, and she has long feared that her memories have been failing her. Though she can recall his many deeds with great clarity – both the good and the bad – Eliza fears that her memories of how he appeared have grown hazy, indistinct.

Beyond that, though, she wants to _feel_ him. For fifty years, she has lived without lying in her bed, wrapped in his strong, welcoming arms. She has lived without his kisses. She has lived without him.

She has lived her life, done and endured all that God has asked of her. Now, she wants her husband.

“Ask, and you shall receive, my darling.”

Eliza’s fly open and she inhales sharply. There, standing at the foot of her bed is a handsome man of middling age, reddish brown hair tied back, dressed in the colorful breeches and waistcoat of days long gone. He smiles down at her, his expression one of love and tenderness.

Oh. _Oh_. The memories flood her mind and she nearly weeps for the power of it. 

_Alexander_. He is here. He is here at last. She is no longer alone.

He seems to sense how overwhelmed she is, for he comes ‘round to the side of the bed, slipping deftly past James’ seated figure, and kneeling at the top of the bed, just beside Eliza’s head. “There, there, my Betsey,” he says, brushing his hand over the top of her thin, white hair, “don’t cry, my angel. I’m here now. I have always been here.”

Her throat is so tight, she cannot even dream of speaking. All Eliza can do is stare at him, drinking in every detail that she has slipped from her memories over the decades. The dusting of freckles over his nose. The dimples on either side of his mouth. The sparkle in his eyes as he held her gaze. 

Oh, she had dreamed of this moment, yearned for it. He is here with her again.

She refuses to ever be parted from him again.

Again, Alexander appears to understand the thoughts going through her mind, because he nods. “Yes, we’ll not be apart anymore, my love. Your work is done. Are you ready?” he asks.

Yes. Oh, yes.

Alexander grins. “Very well then.” Without warning, he leans close and kisses her.

Eliza gasps sharply at the contact, and in a way she cannot describe, it all becomes clear. All the shadows fall away. With a violent flinch, something within her snaps and she suddenly feels… free. All the weight of weary, heavy limbs vanishes, and she feels lighter than air.

Alexander pulls back and again catches her gaze. He stands up and holds out his hand. “Come, my Eliza. Come see. They're waiting.”

Who is waiting, she wonders?

" _Everyone_."

She grasps his hand and pulls herself up. As she passes James, she cannot help but pause, just for a moment. With her free hand, now strangely unblemished by age, she brushes her fingers over his bearded cheek, a final farewell. He shivers at her touch, but does not otherwise react, his eyes still focused intently on the bed. Eliza doesn’t look back, knowing in her heart what she will see.

“He’ll be all right, Eliza,” Alexander assures her, squeezing her hand. “Our children are strong.”

Eliza nods. Yes, they are, and they will undoubtedly join them one day. For now, this is a journey she will make with Alexander. She turns back to her husband and smiles at him. Together, they glide silently hand-in-hand out the door and into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events of Eliza's death are based loosely on how it was described by her son, James Alexander Hamilton, in his memoir.


	12. Tryst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza knows what she's about to do something improper. The thing of it is - she doesn't really care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12\. **Tryst**
> 
> This response is set in the same story-line as Chapter Ten's **Reunion** , and takes place some hours later.

Eliza stared at the closed door in front of her, gathering her nerve. It was quite late. The servants had all retired for the evening, and Eliza had already seen Cornelia off to bed. There was no one in the front hall to see her standing outside of the guest chamber that had been made ready for Alexander’s use, a folded quilt draped over her arm.

This wasn’t proper, she knew that. While her parents tended toward indulgence of their children, they most certainly would have drawn a line at one of their daughters being alone in a bedchamber with a man, even if they were engaged and to be married within the next week or two. Eliza knew very well that her mother would have been horrified that Eliza was even contemplating such an action.

The thought of her parents’ reaction did not serve as a deterrence, however. Eliza narrowed her eyes as she continued to eye the door, and she straightened to her full height. This wedding was for her parents’ sake. They had been deprived of witnessing Angelica’s wedding because of her elopement with Mr. Carter, and so they had turned their frustrated hopes and plans upon Eliza’s marriage. Eliza had agreed to it, if only for the sake of peace in the family, but truth be told, she would have gladly married Alexander months ago in that military camp before an army chaplain. 

And really, if something _did_ happen, did her parents have any room to complain, considering their own conduct in their youth?

Now feeling sufficiently justified in her actions, Eliza determinedly stepped forward and knocked on the door before she lost all of her courage and bolted back upstairs to her own room like the good girl she had been raised to be.

There was a faint shuffling inside the room, but after a moment, Alexander called out, “Come in.”

Swallowing past the sudden tightness in her throat, Eliza turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. She stepped inside, and quickly found Alexander. He sat at the small table, his spectacles perched on his nose as his pen flew over a sheet of paper in front of him. She quickly noticed that he had stripped himself down to just his linen shirt, his boots, and his trousers. The shirt fell open at the neck, giving her a faint glimpse of his chest, and her heart began to pound.

Alexander must have noticed that something was amiss when she did not speak, because he stopped writing and looked up. Upon seeing her, his eyes lit up in surprise. “Betsey? I thought surely you would have retired by now.”

Eliza cleared her throat, inwardly scolding herself for acting like a ninny. Stepping further into the room, she moved closer to the bed. “I brought you another quilt,” she told him, moving to lay it at the foot. “It can be quite drafty in here in the colder months, even with the fire. Papa has had work done on this room for years, and yet no one can never quite get it right,” she said. Before she could stop herself, she babbled on, “I suspect he will eventually stop using this room as a guest chamber and will find some other use for it and –”

Alexander’s gentle laugh cut her off and she turned to look at him again. He’d laid his pen down now, and had also removed his spectacles, dropping them carelessly onto the table. “Thank you, dearest,” he said in a low, soft tone. 

Eliza could feel heat creeping up her cheeks as his gaze lingered on her. While part of her delighted in his attention, another part could not help but feel nervous. Trying to hide her anxiety, she turned her attention back to the bed. Next to the quilt she had just placed there sat Alexander’s blue officer’s coat. Impulsively, she picked it up, intending to hang it on one of the pegs in the corner of the room. As she did so, Eliza spotted a few tears and frayed edges. “Oh,” she said, “I can fix those! I –”

Suddenly, Alexander was there, mere inches from her. How had he moved so fast, and so quietly? Eliza marveled as he carefully took the coat from her hands and tossed it on a nearby chair. “It’s fine, Betsey,” he said, his voice still pitched low and quiet. He took her hands in his and raised them to his lips.

Eliza wondered if this was what it felt like to be a rabbit caught in a snare. She felt caught in Alexander’s gaze, unable, even unwilling, to look away again. When he lowered her hands, he continued to hold them in his own, brushing his thumbs over her fingers. She could feel herself growing ever warmer from the contact.

“When I saw you today, it was like seeing the sun for the first time in years,” he said. “I thought I was dreaming, for how could someone so fair be real?”

She raised an eyebrow, and shook her head. “I was a mess,” she protested. “Completely unfit to be seen!”

But he was adamant. “You were beautiful,” he maintained, and then he grinned at her. “You’re still the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld.”

“Flatterer,” she chided, but with no heat.

Alexander shrugged, completely unapologetic. “I’ve missed you so much these past months,” he told her. “You’ve occupied my thoughts so often that I was the subject of much teasing among the other officers.”

Eliza laughed. He had hinted as much in his letters to her, that she was distracting him even in their separation.

“And oh,” Alexander continued, “I had little to console me, since you wrote to me so infrequently!” He reached out, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. Then he leaned closer and whispered, his breath hot against her ear, “Did I not tell you I would punish you for such delinquencies?”

She shivered. It was true, he had said as much in one of his many letters. Eliza did not deny that she to wrote him far less frequently then he did to her, but there were perfectly logical reasons for that. Since Angelica’s marriage, it had fallen on Eliza and Peggy both to be their mother’s helpmeets in seeing to the management of the household, and that occupied much of her time. There was also the preparations for their own marriage to consider. Much of the summer had been full of sewing, embroidering, and filling her hope chest with items that would come with her when she and Alexander established their own home. 

However, that had not kept her imagination from running wild over the hints and promises Alexander had expressed in his letters. “There was much to do,” was all she managed to say.

He did not step back. Instead, his lips left her ear to brush along her cheek, moving closer to her lips. He did not kiss her, however, even though she ached for him to do so and he well knew it. Eliza could see the knowing glint in Alexander’s eyes. He was deliberately denying her.

“Much to do?” he repeated in a murmur. “So much to do that you had no time to think of me?”

Eliza shook her head. “I didn’t say that,” she replied. “I thought of you every day.” Oh, she had. And not all of it was fear for his safety. More than once, she had poured over his letters, reading them over and over again. She had devoured his words of love, but it had been the undisguised passion that had most occupied her. Alexander was explicit in his wishes and promises for their life together as man and wife, and his expressions had left her flushed and breathless more than once as Eliza imagined him keeping those promises.

“Did you, now?” Alexander asked. He leaned his forehead against hers, and Eliza’s skin prickled. He smiled slowly, knowingly. “And just what did you think, my charmer?”

Eliza knew herself to be naturally impulsive. It was why she was here now, in Alexander’s room, knowing what could very well happen. But this teasing was going to drive her mad if it did not end soon. And judging by the smirk on his face, Alexander knew it. Yet still he persisted in playing with her.

Narrowing her eyes, she replied boldly, “I thought of you, like this… and more.”

Alexander’s eyes widened at her forwardness, clearly surprised, and Eliza seized on the chance to turn the tables on him. Tugging her hands free of his, she slid them up his arms and to his shoulders. She could feel his hard, fit body beneath his linen shirt, could feel just how warm that body was, and it thrilled her. “I thought of your hands,” she continued, her voice lowering, “touching me.” 

The comment was a command, and they both knew it. Obediently, his hands came to rest on her waist. 

“I thought of your lips,” Eliza added. Now her tone dropped to just above a whisper as she closed what little distance remained between their bodies. “Kissing m –”

Eliza couldn’t really be certain who kissed whom. All she knew was that suddenly, their lips met with an urgency that sent a shock through her body. Was this what the scholars called ‘electricity’? Was this the substance that Dr. Franklin had studied? She didn’t know any of that, but Eliza did know that she wanted to feel it again and again, for the rest of her life, at Alexander’s hands.

She was so consumed by her desires that it did not register to Eliza that Alexander had nudged her into moving until she felt the backs of her skirt and legs brush up against the bed. She didn’t hesitate to sit – her knees were trembling so much they would not have held her upright for much longer anyway – and she kept a firm grip on Alexander’s shirt, ensuring that he followed her.

Goodness, but Alexander was _good_ at this. Eliza could not claim any extensive knowledge about kissing, and thus had little prior experience with which to compare him to, but this… this was _wonderful_. His lips were a little chapped, but the sensation of them moving against her own was amazing and –

_Oh!_ There was that his _tongue_ teasing along the seam of her lips?! None of the few boys she had kissed in her younger days had ever tried something like this! Nor had Angelica ever mentioned any such thing! Eager to know more, Eliza parted her lips, happy to follow Alexander’s lead.

The sensation was not something Eliza had the words to describe. She could only feel, could only revel in it. She could only follow her body’s urgings, and so tightened her grip on Alexander’s shirt again and allowed herself to fall back fully onto the bed, bringing him down on top of her. His weight pressed her against the mattress.

In time, the need for air caused them to part, and Eliza found herself staring into Alexander’s eyes. They had a bright, almost feverish shine to them and his breath came in deep gasps. “My God, Betsey,” he groaned, dropping his head against her shoulder, “you _are_ a sorceress! You’ve bewitched me!”

Eliza ran her fingers through his hair, tugging it loose from the ribbon holding it place. She was no witch, she knew. She was simply a woman in love with a man. She told him as much, and he laughed. “Oh yes, ‘tis love that has driven us to this point!” And then his lips were on hers again.

She could say without reservation that she loved kissing Alexander Hamilton, and she loved everything else that seemed to come with it. Eliza shuddered in delight as his own fingers began to run through her hair, knocking her cap loose and freeing the pins that held her dark locks in place. 

It was around then that she noticed that her body was moving against him, nearly of its own accord. And if she was any judge, it was having an effect on Alexander. His hips were nudging against her thigh, and she could feel the evidence of his desire.

Eliza was a virgin, of course, but she was not unaware of what went on between men and women. She was the second child of a large family. Her youngest sibling was only four years old, and there was still yet another one on its way! It was no mystery that her parents enjoyed a loving, physical relationship. What was more, her mother seen to it that all three of her eldest daughters were educated in the mechanics of the act of physical congress. “The more you know,” she had told them, “the less frightening it will be when you begin your wifely duty. And if you’re wise enough in your choice of husband, you’ll be in the hands of a man who will care about your pleasure as much as his own.”

Eliza couldn’t say for certain if Angelica had chosen wisely, for her sister did not share _that_ much detail about her married life, but she had never seen any signs of unhappiness whenever Angelica looked upon Mr. Carter. In any case, Eliza knew that _she_ had definitely chosen rightly.

She shifted beneath Alexander, trying to slide one of her legs further under him, so that she might cradle his hips between her legs. But it was difficult, thanks to her cumbersome skirts and petticoats, and she almost growled in frustration.

The movement caught Alexander’s attention, and he pulled back from her, looking down. “Ah,” he said. He hesitated, indecision crossing his features for a moment, only to then be washed away by resolve. Then he rolled off of her completely, sitting up on the bed beside her.

Confusion filled her. Why was he stopping? She didn’t want to stop, and she could tell he didn’t either. What was going on? “Alexander?”

He turned toward her. He must have seen her mystified expression, because offered her a reassuring smile. “I think it best we stop now, Betsey.” 

There was no hiding the regret in his tone. “Why?” she demanded. “We are engaged! Our marriage will happen within the next few weeks! Why should we deny ourselves what we both want?”

“I do want you, my love,” Alexander agreed, leaning back down on the bed beside her and resting his weight on one of his arms. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “I want you more than I have ever wanted anything else in all my life.” He kissed her forehead, a gesture more tender and soothing than passionate. “But I will not have anyone casting aspersions by sniggering about how I could not wait until we said our vows to claim you.”

There was something in his voice, something that made her wonder. “Who would dare say that?!” she said, suddenly furious. “No one in society would dare so much as whisper such a thing, not when so many couples from all walks of life have been known to anticipate their wedding night! My own parents –”

“I know, darling,” Alexander said, cutting her off as he caressed her cheek. “But it is a new world we are entering. The war won’t last much longer, and if we can hold out, we will have a new nation to build. One that is far more integrated than the colonies are now. Society in Albany and New York might not think much of such things, given longstanding customs, but what about a larger society, one that draws together people from other regions, who would have different views? People that we will have to stand and consort with?”

Eliza stared at him. She had not thought of such a thing. And part of her didn’t care to. What did she care what some impertinent dandy from South Carolina might think? And what business of theirs would it be if she took her betrothed to bed before their wedding ceremony? It was no one’s affair but their own.

But as she gazed up in his eyes, she could see Alexander’s resolve growing. He would not be moved, no matter how she pressed him. He had regained control of himself, and he wouldn’t be ruled by his instincts any longer. 

Disappointment filled her, but Eliza resigned herself to it. “Very well,” she said, conceding the argument and looking away. “If you think it for the best, then we shall go no further.” She sat up then, pushing herself toward the edge of the bed, intending to leave him and return upstairs to the room she shared with Cornelia.

He likely sensed her distress, because Alexander followed her movement, sitting on the edge next to her and catching her before she could stand up to depart. “Hey,” he said softly as he caught her hands, urging her to turn in his direction.

She didn’t want this to turn into an argument, so she gave in and looked at him, letting him see her sadness. But as she looked at him more closely, Eliza could see Alexander’s own sense of upset, could see just what the decision was costing him as well. But neither of them said anything, and Alexander leaned forward to kiss her one last time. She met him halfway, pouring the last of her passion into it, letting him feel just how much she desired him. Perhaps it was petty of her, but Eliza wanted him to know what he was resisting, what he was giving up until the work of gathering her many, numerous relations was done. 

It was Alexander’s turn to shudder under the force of her emotions. When they parted, he sighed, “Oh, you naughty minx, how you tempt me.”

Eliza smirked, and then rose up to go. Her cap had fallen from her head and onto the bed, so she reached out and took it. She didn’t bother trying to put it back on, knowing her hair was probably in quite the state. Instead, she said, “Goodnight, Alexander.”

“Goodnight, Eliza,” he replied. She had almost made it to the door when he spoke again, halting her in her tracks. “Eliza?”

She looked back over her shoulder questioningly, and found him giving her a wicked, mischievous grin. “If it helps, my darling, think of the wait as the punishment I promised you.”

Eliza blinked, not understanding him at first. But then their previous conversation returned to her and a mixture of indignation and amusement shot through her. Impulsively, she turned to face him fully and, after balling up her cap in her hands, she threw it at him. The material was thick enough that it had enough weight to go the distance, and it hit him square in the forehead.

She left then, grinning as she closed the door behind her on the sound of Alexander’s laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, if you've ever visited the Schuyler Mansion, the room I've given to Alexander is now, I think, set up as the dining room. There is a YouTube video located [here](https://youtu.be/Ublgp2EpZN8) that covers a tour of the mansion, and the historical interpreter talks about how, in earlier years, that room may have been a bedchamber before it was transformed. That suited my purposes perfectly for this story, so I ran with it.


	13. Kidney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza hated it when Alexander was sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 13\. **~~Thunderstorm~~ Kidney**

The loud creak Eliza heard on the ceiling above her head made her purse her lips in annoyance. Alexander was trying to leave the bed. Again.

She hated it when he was sick, and not just because she disliked seeing him ill and in a miserable condition. There was also the undeniable fact that her husband was horrible at staying in bed when he was in no condition to be up and about. It was frustrating, watching him all but vibrate himself out of bed, only to wear himself and set his recovery back.

The sudden, piercing cry of a babe suddenly rang through the house. With a sigh, she picked up the tray of chicken broth and watered wine and left the kitchen, making her way toward the staircase. Once she reached the second floor, she swept past Philip and Angelica’s respective rooms, not bothering to tiptoe on the way to her and Alexander’s bedchamber. He had known she was coming up with some light food for him to eat, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to be out of bed.

This was not the first time they had performed this little routine and, Eliza supposed with a tired sigh, it would very likely not be the last. This was Alexander’s reoccurring kidney complaint, a remnant from his suffering of yellow fever as a child, the illness which had lost him his mother and any remaining vestige of childhood. The sickness returned almost every summer, and the doctors had been at a loss as to how to treat it. The best they had been able to offer was various powders and brews that, at best, merely treated the symptoms. Really, the best method they had of dealing with the complaint was to simply wait it out, and ply him with simple, wholesome foods.

Of course, there still lay one problem with that course of treatment – her husband’s complete inability to sit still for any long length of time. Even when he was ill and bedbound, he wanted to keep working, would ask, even beg, her to bring some of his papers and his travel desk so that he might work from bed. Then, if pleading didn’t work, Alexander would then convince himself that he wasn’t so bad off and could rise from bed to go into his study to work –

A loud ‘thunk’ interrupted Eliza’s thoughts as she approached their chamber and she sighed. Alexander’s energy had likely given out. She stepped into the open doorway and peered inside, and was not at all surprised at what she found. The baby was in his crib in the corner of the room, no longer screaming, but still fussing and demanding attention. Alexander was on his knees by the foot of the bed, a vice-like grip on the bedpost. He was still clad in his nightshirt but with a pair of breeches tangled up at his feet. “Alexander,” she said with a hint of mild exasperation in her tone.

He startled, clearly having not heard her arrive. Meeting her stern gaze, he had the grace to look chastened. “I thought I could do it,” was his excuse, the one he always gave her when she found him like this. “And, the baby –”

Shaking her head, Eliza slipped past him and set the tray down on the table next to their bed. “The baby didn’t make a sound until after you were up and trying to move,” she said severely. She then turned around to face him. She could see how pale he was, and there was even a faint tremor in the one hand that was not clinging to the bedpost. Her heart softened a bit, the irritation giving way to sadness. “Oh, darling,” she said, shaking her head as she moved to his side. “When will you learn not to push yourself when you’re like this?”

He didn’t reply, only giving her a weak smile as he tried once again to pull himself back to his feet. Eliza placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Here,” she said, “let me help.” First, she bent down and tugged his breeches free of his feet. Tossing them onto a nearby chair, she then took his free arm and bent down to drape it under her shoulders. “Ready?” she asked him. At his nod, she straightened her knees, helping him to lift himself up enough to get his bare feet back underneath him. With a little further effort, they were able to shuffle around so that Alexander could sit down on the bed. 

For a moment, Eliza feared that her husband would gesture for his breeches again, but much to her relief, his tumble seemed to have knocked some of his stubbornness loose. Instead, he used his arms to shift himself back against his pillows. He was returning to bed, where he belonged. Pleased, she took the tray up again and placed it in his lap. She watched as he looked down at the bowl of broth and watered wine with no real enthusiasm, but when he gamely took up the spoon, she nodded, pleased.

Satisfied that Alexander was settled for the moment, Eliza turned her attention to the baby. He had quieted down now, but as she came closer she could see that he was wide awake. His gaze focused on her, and he gurgled out what she imagined was a greeting. Smiling, she reached down and lifted him out of the crib. “Hello, my dearheart,” she said, cradling him against her bosom. There was no unpleasant scent about him, so his clouts were clearly not in need of changing, and he had been nursed just over an hour ago. “Did you just want some attention?” she asked him. He babbled a bit, seemingly pleased with the sound of her voice.

“He must be enthralled by his mama,” Alexander spoke up from the bed, where he continued to sip on the broth. When Eliza turned her gaze on him, he grinned and waved his spoon in their direction. “My boy has excellent taste!”

Eliza rolled her eyes at him and said, “Let us hope he will not inherit your stubbornness.” She glanced down at baby again. “You will do your best to be calm and reasonable, won’t you, darling? For your mama’s sake?”

Alexander Hamilton Junior merely stuck his tiny fist in his mouth and began to drool.

By the time Alexander had taken in as much of the broth and wine as he could stand to, Eliza had settled herself onto the bed next to him. Little Alex had been returned to the crib, having been satisfied with his mother’s attention before falling back asleep. Eliza knew she wouldn’t be able to stay here for very long. Philip and Angelica would soon wake from their naps, if they hadn’t already. Soon supper would need to be made and while their hired girl, Sally, could handle most of it herself, Eliza knew she would need some assistance sooner or later. 

Alexander grunted, clearly pained as he leaned over to set the tray back on the table. Eliza shifted to her side, facing him as he fell back against the pillows. Seeing the shadows of pain on his face, Eliza reached out and ran her hand down his side. “Is it any better?” she asked him quietly.

He glanced toward her, and then nodded. “Yes, some,” he told her. “That’s why I thought I’d be able to get up.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Patience is a virtue, Alexander,” she told him. “The doctor was pleased when he visited yesterday. He comes back tomorrow.” She stared at him, considering something. Finally, she continued, “If the doctor agrees when he comes, I’ll bring up some of your papers from your study for you to look at. How does that sound?”

Alexander smiled at her. Taking her hand in his, he raised it to his lips and kissed it. “You’re too good to me,” he said. 

Eliza opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off when there was a shout from down the hallway. “Mama!”

Philip was awake. Then, when there was a corresponding whine from about the same distance away, Eliza realized that Angelica too had woken from her nap. Taking a deep breath, Eliza sat up. Before she got to her feet, however, she leaned across the bed and pressed a brief, firm kiss to Alexander’s lips. “I’ll bring you a few more books upstairs once I get those two up and settled,” she promised as she stood up.

Perhaps having a few of Mr. Pope’s poems to peruse would keep her husband from further endangering his health from boredom, she thought as she left the room.


	14. Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are cordially invited...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14\. **Wedding**
> 
> Also, this chapter takes place in the same arc as Chapter 10: **Reunion** and Chapter 12: **Tryst** , set several days later.

Everyone was here, Eliza knew. The ceremony was to take place at precisely ten-thirty in the morning, and it seemed that no one wanted to miss it. The various relations that had been able to make the journey – not as many as there would have been at a different time of year, given the atrociously cold weather, but still a respectable number – had been arriving all morning. Their combined voices were creating quite the loud din downstairs, and Eliza could hear her father’s booming voice introducing Alexander to the various aunts, uncles, and cousins that had been able to make the journey.

Not that Eliza had seen any of them. She had not been permitted to step below stairs at all today on her mother’s orders. “Bad luck him to see you before the ceremony!” her mother had lectured her. Nor had any of the guests been permitted to come upstairs to see Eliza, not even her cousins or aunts. The only people she had seen at all today had been her mother, Peggy, Cornelia, and a few of the servants. 

But now, that was, finally, about to change. It was nearly time, and Eliza could hear the guests moving into the parlor, where she would marry Alexander. Her father would arrive at her door any moment to escort her down.

Eliza took one last look in the mirror in front of her. She had chosen to marry in blue, so as to complement Alexander’s own attire. He asked her in a letter just a few months ago what she would have him wear.[1] It had been an easy answer – her fiancé was a soldier, and so she would wed him in his officer’s uniform of buff and blue. The dress’ fabric was covered in beautiful blue floral patterns, and she rather thought that it would match up very well with Alexander’s coat.[2]

The sound of footsteps on the stairs suddenly reached her ears. Papa was coming. 

She took a deep, steadying breath. It was time. In just a short period of time, she would no longer be Miss Elizabeth Schuyler, but Mrs. Alexander Hamilton. 

She felt no fear, no apprehension. Eliza was ready to take this step. She had been ready since the spring, when Alexander had first proposed to her. She would have married him then, without an elaborate party or anything else of the sort, but this grand gathering had been her parents’ most earnest wish, since they had been denied the chance to provide it for Angelica. So Eliza had submitted, with Alexander’s encouragement and agreement, but had done so reluctantly. She had not needed any of this fuss, but because her parents seemed to, she deferred to their wishes.

A knock at the door. “Betsey?” came her father’s deep voice. “It’s time.”

It was time. She was ready.

Taking a deep breath, Eliza called, “Come in, Papa.”

She turned toward the door just as it opened. Her father stepped in, and stopped in his tracks when he saw her. His eyes widened, clearly surprised by her appearance – for he had not seen her in her wedding dress before now – and then he blinked several times. “You – that is – your mother. She wore blue on the day we wed,” he said, his tone gruff but gentle. 

Eliza smiled. Stepping forward, she took her father’s hand. “Well, let’s get down there, Papa,” she said, and then added teasingly, “Let’s not let all of our hard work go waste.”

He smiled, and Eliza saw him continue blinking. She realized then that her father, her wonderful, stern, gruff father was blinking back tears. Eliza squeezed his hand, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead before he aided her in bringing her veil over her head. 

They crossed the salon together, making for the staircase. As they began their descent, Eliza could hear the murmur of voices. Her heart began to beat faster in excitement, and it took every ounce of control she had not to dart ahead of her father just so she could reach the parlor, reach Alexander. 

The dining table had already been pulled out into the center of the front hall, and it was already groaning under the weight of the food, particularly the wedding cake, which sat in the very center. The food smelled divine, but they did not stop to partake. That would happen soon enough. 

Peggy was waiting for them before they reached the parlor door. They stopped a moment and allowed Peggy to make a few last minute adjustments to Eliza’s gown – straightening the skirt and veil, and even making sure Eliza’s garters were secure. When Peggy finally stood still in front of Eliza, their eyes met and Eliza could not help but feel a moment of loss. There was one of their number missing here today. They had always been three – the Schuyler sisters – and had done everything together. That had come to an end with Angelica’s elopement, but somehow, it was only now that it truly seemed real to Eliza. Angelica was far from here, living her life in Boston with Mr. Carter and their two little ones.[3]

Eliza bit her lip against the sudden urge to weep, and she saw the feeling reflected in Peggy’s eyes. 

But then Peggy straightened to her full height and said, “Buck up, Betsey. You don’t want to meet your Colonel with red eyes, do you? You might actually succeed where the British failed and frighten him off!”

Both Eliza and their father snorted, the sounds nearly identical. Giving her one last grin, Peggy turned on her heel and preceded them into the parlor.

There was a moment of silence, and then music upon the pianoforte filled the air. Her father took her hand and placed it on his arm. “Well, my girl,” he said, “Are you ready?”

Eliza beamed at him, squeezing his arm. “Yes, Papa, I’m ready,” she told him. 

He nodded and, together, they started forward and into the parlor.

The room was full to bursting, was Eliza’s first thought. Although her wedding was not as large as her parents likely would have cared for it to be – owing to both the weather and the war – many of her kin had obviously made a special effort to come when they received word that it was happening. Her grandfather, standing tall and venerable even as he leaned on his cane, winked at her as she walked past him, and Grandmother Gertrude also smiled. Eliza also received various smiles and even whispered well-wishes from her numerous other relatives as she and her father moved down the small aisle the crowed had created, toward the fireplace where Alexander and Pastor Westerlo waited. Last, but never least, she saw her mother, brothers, and Cornelia standing at the front, the former already dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes and the latter bouncing in excitement. Eliza struggled to suppress a laugh at her little sister’s exuberance.

Meeting Alexander’s gaze nearly stole her breath away. She had rarely seen him appear so happy. Perhaps the only time that could compare would have been the day she had accepted his proposal of marriage, back in the spring. That had been a day they had both been delirious with joy, but now Eliza thought that this day would be even more so.

She and her father halted just in front of Alexander, who then stepped forward, holding out his hand. Her father slowly took her hand from his arm, and then laid it in the younger man’s. “My son,” he said in a low, quiet tone, so soft that it was unlikely most of the crowd could even hear it, “be true.”

Alexander nodded, completely in earnest, and her father, satisfied, stepped back, leaving Eliza to step up alone to stand with Alexander before Mr. Westerlo. The music also came to an end, leaving the parlor in silence.

The pastor began the ceremony then, speaking the words that he had no doubt spoken for many couples before them, but in all honesty, Eliza heard few of them. Instead, all of her attention was drawn to Alexander. Their hands were tangled up in one another as they received the prayers of Mr. Westerlo and the many witnesses. As their gazes held one another, Eliza saw Alexander’s eyes sparkle and one corner of his lips turn upward in a smile. The gesture had Eliza fighting not to break out into a wide grin wholly inappropriate for the solemn moment they were in. Instead, she squeezed his hands in warning, but received only a mischievous wink in return.

 _Naughty man_ , she thought, wanting to laugh.

Mr. Westerlo’s words finally broke through the haze of merriment around them when he asked Alexander, “Will you take this woman to be thy wedded wife?”

His voice was strong and clear, with no hesitation. “I will.”

“To have and to hold from this moment forward? For richer, for poorer? In sickness, and in health? Forsaking all others?”

“I will.”

The pastor then repeated the bride’s vows for Eliza, which she duly answered. Subsequently, Alexander produced a ring, which he slid upon her finger as he swore, “With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow.” And in a personal touch, not part of the ceremony, he then lifted that same hand to his lips, and kissed the ring that now rested there. Eliza could sense rather than see the smiles coming from their audience, and the fond, indulgent look of Mr. Westerlo.

Finally, the ceremony concluded, with the pastor granting Alexander permission to “kiss his bride.” Alexander let go of her hands then, and plucked at the veil, raising it and letting it fall back behind her head. Without hesitation, they closed the distance between them and their lips met in a kiss that pledged all of their love and devotion, a moment every bit as sacred as having the church grant its own blessing upon their union.

The sound of cheering filled Eliza’s ears, and soon she and Alexander were surrounded by her many relations. Eliza was receiving kisses on the cheeks from Peggy and her mother, and she could feel Cornelia tugging at her skirts. Her father and Mr. Westerlo were shaking Alexander’s hand, with her many male relations waiting their turn.

The next several hours were a whirlwind of good food, dancing, and excellent company. More than once, Eliza would lose Alexander in the crowd, only to find her brothers smirking and nudging her in a certain direction. Then, lo and behold, there would be Alexander, and they would have some time to enjoy one another’s company, only to be tugged apart again by different members of her family. From the mischievous expressions on many of their faces, Eliza was certain that they were all doing it on purpose.

By the late afternoon, Eliza was flushed from both the wine and the dancing, but was still able to stand up to bid farewell as the guests began to take their leave. Eliza was inundated with well-wishes – and advice – from her female relations. She was also on the receiving end of a fierce hug from Peggy, who was leaving for Albany in the company of their grandparents.

“I think you’ll be happy, Betsey,” Peggy said as they clutched one another tightly. Eliza buried her face in her sister’s shoulder for a moment before they separated. Together, they turned where Alexander stood some distance away, in deep conversation with their father and several uncles. He seemed to sense their gaze, however, and his eyes shifted from his new father-in-law to meet Betsey’s gaze. His expression lit up and he beamed at her.

Peggy stifled a laugh. “Oh yes, he adores you already.”

“And I him,” Eliza murmured, smiling back at him before turning back to her sister. Out of habit, she reached out and tugged Peggy’s cloak about her more tightly. “Stay warm, dear Peggy.”

Peggy flashed her one last grin, this one far naughtier. “I would say the same to you, but I don’t think I need to worry. Alexander will take care of that just fine, I’m sure.” Dodging Eliza’s playful swat, she darted out the door.

Eliza found herself without someone else to pay her respects to, so she turned her gaze back to Alexander. Like her, he was flushed from the wine he’d consumed and their many dances, but beyond that, she could see how happy he was amid his current company. Her father already made it perfectly clear how delighted he was with his new son-in-law, and the other men appeared to have taken to him as well. It was certainly a far cry from how Mr. Carter had been viewed after his and Angelica’s hurried elopement.

The thought made her stop. It was true, Alexander was receiving a much kinder reception from her family. Perhaps it was because of her father’s obvious approbation and support, but part of her could not help but wonder if it was because Alexander had done things properly. He had publicly courted Eliza, had sought her parents’ blessing after he had proposed to her, even revealing aspects of his life to them that could cost him that blessing, and yet being unwilling to lie, even by omission. He had not married her in a hurried ceremony in a dirty army camp, but instead had bowed to the traditions of her family and the desires of her parents. He had even taken leave from his important position as General Washington’s aide-de-camp to marry Eliza here, in her home and surrounded by her kin. 

Eliza had not needed this large celebration. She was never one for ostentation. Still, she had recognized her parents’ desires and had bowed to them. But as she looked at Alexander, took in his obvious happiness at being so welcomed by her kin, Eliza could not help but think that perhaps Alexander had needed this too. He had told her enough of his childhood to know that he really had little kin to speak of. A dead mother, a father and brother that he had scant contact with, a half-brother who had taken everything and left him with nothing, and a few cousins who, although dear to him, were a world away and had no plans to close that distance.

But now, in marrying her as he had, Alexander had gained an enormous family, all of whom were warmly disposed to him. For someone whose life had been so lonely, it must have been a like water on the ground after a long drought.

Well, there would be no more of that, Eliza thought with a sudden fierceness. He had her family now, and most of all, he had her. They would build their own family, and he would never have to worry about being left alone again.

Glancing around, Eliza saw that no one else seemed to be readying to leave just yet, so she left her spot near the door and made her way towards the group congregating around Alexander. There was a great roar of laughter as she approached, and she smiled reflexively. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said, moving over to Alexander’s side and slipping her hand into his. “Might I borrow my husband?”

No one raised any objections, and Eliza had no trouble leading Alexander away from the crowd. She pulled him toward the back of the house, past the stairs – it wasn’t yet time for them to journey upstairs just yet – and into her father’s library. She nudged him inside and closed the door behind her. Turning back, she leaned against it and stared at Alexander. He stared back at her, looking amused. “How may I be of service, Mrs. Hamilton?” he asked, his eyes gleaming at her new name.

Eliza suspected it would be a long, long time before being called that lost its thrill. In fact, she hoped it never would. Still, she had no desire for coyness. Brazenly, she stepped up to him, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him fiercely.

Alexander did not object to her boldness, bringing his arms about her waist and returning the kiss. They stayed like that for several moments. When they finally broke apart, he asked somewhat breathlessly, “May I ask what that was for?”

Eliza did not stray far, keeping her arms draped loosely about him. She smiled and said, “Just to say how much I love you, my dearest Alexander.”

He laughed, “Well, then, if that is how you plan to say ‘I love you’ for the rest of our lives, my sweet Betsey, I shall say that I am the luckiest of men!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] [Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Schuyler, 5 October 1780](https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-27-02-0001-0003).
> 
> [2] I went diving into Google and Pinterest, looking for something that I could see as Eliza’s wedding dress. I could never find the complete ensemble that matched what I envisioned, but [here is the fabric that came the closest](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/437834395030092781/) (though the cut of the gown isn’t quite right, so ignore that).
> 
> [3] I’m honestly not entirely certain on this. I’ve read conflicting reports as to whether Angelica was present for Eliza and Alexander’s wedding. I learned from a recent livestream that even the interpreters at the Schuyler Mansion aren't completely sure either. Still, her absence seemed pretty plausible to me, so I went with it.
> 
> And also, happy 240th anniversary to Eliza and Alexander!


	15. Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the mouth of babes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 15\. **Affection**
> 
> This chapter is part of the arc that includes **Reunion** , **Tryst** , and **Wedding** , and is set in between **Reunion** and **Tryst**.

Under normal circumstances, Cornelia usually did not put up much of a fuss about her bed time. Of course, normal circumstances included being under the stern eyes of their parents, and Cornelia, even as young as she was, was loathe to bring their wrath down upon her head. In this case, however, they were far from what was normal. Their parents, and Peggy too, had been gone for some weeks, overseeing the last of the reconstruction of their home at Saratoga, leaving Cornelia in Eliza’s care and that of her nurse. That alone had inspired Cornelia to push further at boundaries than she was normally wont to.

So, truly, the household was already in something of an upset. Add Alexander Hamilton into an already boiling pot, Eliza reflected with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, and you have a recipe for pure chaos. Her fiancé had well and thoroughly enchanted her four-year-old sister. The three of them had spent much of the afternoon together, and Alexander had showered Cornelia with stories of his childhood in the West Indies – though Eliza was fairly certain he left several less savory details out – and had even taught her a few simple games he had learned as a boy. 

All of this served up the perfect situation where Eliza would have a fight on her hands in getting Cornelia up to bed. 

Or so she thought. 

About an hour after their evening meal, Eliza stood up from her seat in the parlor and announced that it was Cornelia’s bedtime, she could see the protest forming on her sister’s face. She braced herself, preparing to hear pleadings, demands, and outright fits, only to have Alexander speak up.

“I dare say it is my bedtime as well,” he said, a yawn forming on his lips.

Cornelia whirled back to him, her eyes wide. “ _You_ have a bedtime?!” she demanded, and then narrowed her eyes. “You’re a grown-up!”

Alexander smiled and shook his head. “Ah, but I am also a soldier, Miss Cornelia,” he reminded her, leaning forward to tap her nose. “When General Washington gives an order, he expects his soldiers to obey it.”

Cornelia continued to eye him suspiciously, but Eliza could have kissed him. He had successfully averted a tantrum. She swept forward and held out her hand to Cornelia, which she obligingly took. As the little girl stood up, Alexander followed suit and gave them both a deep, gallant bow. Her lips twitching into a smile, Eliza curtsied in return, and struggled to keep herself from chuckling when Cornelia copied the gesture, albeit much more clumsily. 

Alexander accompanied them out of the parlor and then parted ways with them in the front hall, though not before catching Eliza’s free hand in his own and kissing it, winking at her as he did so. He then made his way to the bed chamber just off the front hall that was left for the use of guests, or for her parents, when they had guests whose exalted status merited them the finest room in the house – their own bedchamber. Eliza, meanwhile, led Cornelia down the length of the front hall and then up the stairs to the second floor.

Cornelia had only recently come to share the chamber that had been designated for the use of all of the daughters of the house, having before slept on a small bed in their parents’ chamber. It had only been these past few months that Cornelia – and her tiny bed – had joined Eliza and Peggy in the room the two of them had once shared with Angelica. It had been something of an adjustment, Eliza reflected, and one she realized that would be repeated soon enough, when Eliza left home as a married woman to live with her husband. 

Upon entering the room, Eliza found that everything was laid out and waiting for Cornelia’s use, from nightgown to hairbrush to sleeping cap. It was thankfully not a difficult task to clean Cornelia’s face and dress her for bed. Once that was finished, Eliza ran the brush through Cornelia’s curls, marveling at how they were such a lighter color than her own. Like Eliza, Angelica and Peggy all had the darker hair of the Van Rensselaers, as did their three brothers. Cornelia alone had inherited the lighter tones of the Schuylers, something that never failed to make their father smile fondly. 

“Betsey,” Cornelia suddenly spoke up, interrupting Eliza’s thoughts.

“Yes?” she responded, setting the brush down and moving to plait Cornelia’s hair.

“Are you really going to marry Colonel Hamilton?” the child asked her.

Eliza nodded, weaving the strands together with practiced ease. Even with Cornelia’s thick curls, she had more than enough skill to work the braid into existence. “Yes, I am.”

“Like Angelica’s married to Mr. Carter?”

That question gave her pause. Eliza knew very well that there was, in the minds of their parents and wider relations, a marked difference between Angelica’s marriage and Eliza’s own approaching nuptials. Her parents had approved of her suitor for one, and had given their blessing for the marriage for another. Eliza would not be sneaking off into the night to throw herself on the mercy of her grandfather and present the old man with no other option but to summon a pastor, but would instead be married from the home she had grown up in, with her family gathered around to witness it.

Still, that was all a bit much to lay before a five-year-old. So instead, she said, “If you mean that we will be say our vows before the good Lord and that we will live together as man and wife, then yes.”

“Oh.” Cornelia said, and Eliza could hear the pensive note in the child’s voice. “Does that mean you’ll go away?” The words ‘ _like Angelica_ ’ hung in the air, but this time Cornelia did not say them. Despite her youth, even Cornelia knew to tread lightly where their oldest sister was concerned. 

“That’s what girls do when they marry, Cornelia,” Eliza told her gently as she tied the braid off. She then reached for the child’s sleeping cap, and added, “But I imagine that we will visit here often.”

Cornelia nodded and followed Eliza over to her bed. Once she’d crawled under the covers, she declared, “I like Colonel Hamilton.”

Eliza smiled as she sat down on the edge of the tiny bed. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“So can I marry him too?” her little sister asked, the words coming out of her in a rush. “Then I could live with you and him and then you and I won’t be lonely!”

The idea was one only a child could come up with, and it took all of Eliza’s self-control not to bust into boisterous laughter. Cornelia was perfectly serious in her question, earnest in that way that only children could be.

Struggling to keep her voice from shaking with mirth, Eliza shook her head and said, “I’m afraid not, dear heart. Colonel Hamilton is just for me. But,” she added, leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner, “one day, you will find someone you like even more than you like the Colonel, and he will be all yours. And Colonel Hamilton and I will visit you then as well.”

Cornelia cocked her head, considering her words. She didn’t look entirely appeased, but then she nodded. “That’d be all right then,” she said grudgingly. She then added, “So long as he doesn’t pull my hair like Renssy does!”

Eliza snorted. Their mischievous brother did like to tease Cornelia. “If he is at all worthy of you, sweetheart, he will not only _not_ pull your hair, he will fight any man who dares do so! Now,” she said, standing up, “time to sleep. Tomorrow is another day.”

There was no argument forthcoming and Cornelia settled down against her pillow. Just as Eliza went to blow out the candle, however, the girl murmured, “Hope the Colonel isn’t cold. Papa says that room’s always cold.”

Eliza paused a moment, considering the words, but then continued. The bedchamber fell dark, save for the glow emanating from the fireplace. Quietly, she slipped out of the room, thoughts swirling in her mind about Alexander.

Cornelia was correct. Papa thought that guest chamber far too drafty. Surely, it was only right that Eliza see to it that he had plenty of blankets to keep him warm? But, oh, to be in the same room with him, _alone_ , and in a _bedchamber_ at that...

Eliza could feel herself beginning to blush as an idea began to take shape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, I just couldn't resist a bit more of Cornelia being adorable...


	16. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza sat beside the bed, her eyes on its lone occupant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 16\. **Fear**
> 
> This chapter is set in the same arc as Chapter 1: **Rest** , set some days later.

Eliza sat beside the bed, her eyes on its lone occupant. A bit of mending lay unattended in her lap. Alexander had done little more than sleep since he had arrived home, drifting in and out of consciousness and even dealing with the occasional fever.

“’Tis exhaustion more than anything else,” Doctor Gordon had told her when he had been summoned to examine Alexander. “I suspect that many a soldier will be suffering from it, being at war for so long.” He had then recommended a course of treatment which basically boiled down to letting Alexander rest as much as his body demanded, coupled with simple, wholesome foods, nothing rich or sugary. Eliza’s mother had nodded her own agreement to the physician’s prescription and had ordered a succession of soups, a bit of bread, and watered wine be sent up at regular intervals from the kitchens.

“We just have to keep him from pushing himself too far too fast,” her mother had told Eliza. She gave Alexander’s sleeping form a long, considering look. “He reminds me a great deal of your father – never content to rest in one place for too long and always having to be doing something. In his weakened state, if he pushes his body to do too much, he’ll just make himself sicker.”

So Eliza had done all that she could, keeping watch over him for the better part of the day, though she did occasionally leave the room at Angelica’s insistence to take some exercise and interact with the rest of the family. She trusted Dr. Gordon, having been attended by him for several years herself, but even more so, she trusted her mother’s judgement. Still, even that did not completely ease her concern for her husband. Eliza was not prone to ill health herself, but she had seen enough of Alexander’s illness now and had heard the stories from mutual friends and acquaintances of his periodic bouts of sickness. It made her all the more determined to look after his health and see to it that he improved. Their life together had just begun, with their first child not even arrived yet. She would not see it end precipitously on account of rash impulsivity on his part.

A faint groan interrupted Eliza’s thoughts and she sat up straight in the chair, her gaze focusing on her husband. He was shifting in the bed, one hand coming up to rub at his eyes while the other pushed at the coverlet. Taking the mending off of her lap and dropping it into the basket at her feet, Eliza stood up and moved closer to the bed. “Alexander?”

He turned toward the sound of her voice, blinking sleepily at her. “Betsey?” he said, his voice low and hoarse. He appeared confused, puzzled and even a bit alarmed at seeing her in front of him. 

It was the fever, she knew. This had happened the day after he had arrived home. Alexander had woken up completely unaware of where he was, or why she had suddenly appeared. He had even been under the impression that he was still at Yorktown, and had actually been quite terrified that she was present, fearful that she would be killed in the chaos of battle. 

Before Alexander could work himself into a state again, Eliza sat down on the bed close to him. Reaching out, she took one of his hands between her own. “Shh,” she said soothingly, “it’s all right, my love. You’re safe. You’re here in Albany, remember?”

He kept blinking for several moments, but then nodded. “Yes,” he replied slowly, his body relaxing again. “Yes,” he repeated, “Here in Albany, with you.” His eyes dropped down, landing on her stomach, and a small, joyful smile crossed his lips. “With our son.”

Eliza couldn’t help but smile as well. He had been so certain that she carried a boy ever since she had informed him of the babe’s existence. Eliza had been told that there were ways to tell whether a woman carried a boy or a girl, that some mothers could even _sense_ it, but truth be told, she had no inkling either way. Which was fine, as it allowed Alexander to be certain enough for the both of them. “Yes, with our baby,” she agreed. 

They sat together in peaceful silence for a moment, just enjoying one another’s presence. Then, she freed one of her hands to reach out and brush her palm over his forehead. He was cooler, with a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. “It seems your fever is breaking,” she told him. “Are you hungry? I can call for some soup for you.”

Alexander paused, considering the offer, and then nodded. “That would be excellent,” he admitted. Then he glanced down at himself and wrinkled his nose. “Would it also be possible to have some water for washing?” he inquired. “I reek.”

Eliza tamped down on the urge to giggle over just how _offended_ he appeared by his admittedly odorous self. That he was able to make such comments did wonder to ease her fears for him. “Yes, I think we can arrange that. It might be best to wait for a full bath, at least until we’re sure the fever is completely gone, but a sponge bath should be all right.” Eliza carefully got to her feet, but then leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better, dearest.”

As she straightened, she caught sight of a pout forming on Alexander’s face. “I _must_ be clean, darling, if only so I can kiss you without offending your own nose.”

The laugh burst out of her before she could stop it, and it echoed throughout the salon as Eliza sought someone who could bring up the soup.


	17. Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander and Eliza catch a moment for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 17\. **Picnic**

They slipped out of the house with ease, not even having to work at being quiet. With the boys busy at their lessons and Angelica and Fanny working at their music under their grandparents’ direction, Alexander had found that both he and Eliza were actually at loose ends, a rare occurrence.

Never wanting to waste an opportunity, they had acted quickly. Alexander had rushed out to the kitchens and requested a small amount of food for a picnic for two, while Eliza had secured a quilt for them to settle on. After that, it had been a simple matter of walking out the front door. No one called after them, requesting their attention or help with a task, leaving them to their attempt to gain a measure of solitude.

They swept down the hill in front of the house, walking hand-in-hand along the path before veering off into the field towards a lone, large oak. Alexander knew it was a popular spot for family picnics, having participated in a few of them over the years. Normally, it was a much larger crowd that participated in these gatherings, but today, it was just him and his wife.

“How long do you think we have before one of them comes after us?” Alexander asked as they walked.

“It should be a while,” Eliza responded. “The boys are deep in their studies, Johnny is down for his nap, and the girls will be at their music for a while yet.”

He nodded. “Good.” He loved his children dearly, but life had taught him to never hesitate to take advantage of an opening to spend some time solely in his wife’s wonderful company. 

When they finally reached the oak tree, Eliza let go of his hand and took the quilt in both hands and shook it free of its folds. Sitting the hamper and small jug of sweetened lemonade down on the grass, Alexander stepped forward to assist her in spreading it down on the ground, well under the shade of the tree’s large branches and out of the afternoon sun. They made themselves comfortable on the blanket, Eliza even removing her day cap and setting it aside while Alexander opened a few buttons of his waistcoat. He then leaned over and grabbed the hamper and jug, placing them in front of him. 

The food in the basket was simple fare, just a couple of sandwiches, apples, and sweets that were readily available, but it was perfect for this quiet moment they had managed to snatch for themselves. He and Eliza ate in comfortable, contented silence, and sipped on the sweet lemonade. As they finished, he said, “It shouldn’t be too much longer before we can resettle in the City. I have someone looking for potential houses.”

Eliza turned toward him, surprise crossing her features. “So soon?” she asked. “I thought it would not be until closer to fall.”

He nodded. “So did I, but I’ve had no shortage of applications for my legal services.” Alexander smiled, feeling somewhat brittle. “Even those who despise my political views know my talent in freeing people from unfortunate legal entanglements and are eager to take advantage of it.”

It wasn’t just that, of course, and from the expression on her face, Eliza knew it too. Though he had resigned from public life, it had not resigned itself from him. Alexander still received letters from the President, asking for his advice, particularly in matters regarding to the Jay Treaty. Although the contents of the treaty were not yet public knowledge, Alexander knew it was only a matter of time before the treaty reached the attention of the people, and there would likely be hell to pay when it did. And if Alexander was honest with himself, he wanted to be a part of it. He had worked too long and too hard to simply give up and leave the work of securing this nation’s future to a bunch of people of varying levels of competence or even sanity.

But Alexander did not want to think of it right now. This was a moment for him, and for Eliza. God knew she had suffered these past years from a decided lack of his attention, and it was something he had sworn to himself that he would make up for.

Eliza too seemed to wish to change the subject. Reaching into the pocket of her dress, she pulled out a small book. “Here,” she said, “read to me?”

He examined the spine, and smiled. Alexander Pope. One of his favorite poets, which she well knew. With a soft, tender smile, he raised his arm and gestured for her to come closer. She didn’t hesitate, and surprised him when she shifted over and actually dropped further on the quilt and settled her head in his lap. Alexander blinked, and then laughed. “Ah, so I am to be both reader _and_ pillow,” he said. “I see how it is.”

She grinned. “You are a most comfortable pillow, darling. How can I not take advantage?”

“You can be most ruthless when you feel the need,” he conceded playfully. Opening the book to the first page, he did as Eliza had asked him and began to read, though he made a point of threading his fingers through her thick, dark hair, enjoying the sensation of it on his skin.

In the end, they had over an hour to themselves before the children came wandering out of the house in search of them.


	18. First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colonel Hamilton makes a new acquaintance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 18\. **~~Genderbend~~ First**

Alexander marched along the snow-covered path, his shoulders hunched against the frigid air as he followed several of his fellow aides toward the local storeroom. Honestly, with every step he took he was regretting more and more his decision to purchase the voucher for these local dancing assemblies that the officers insisted on sponsoring. While he knew it was an excellent way to interact with others outside of his immediate circle of acquaintance, it was also damned cold! How many would actually show up in this kind of weather?

His mental grousing was interrupted when Tench Tilghman suddenly appeared beside him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, Hammie, keep up!” he said cheerfully. “You lollygag far enough behind and you’ll not be found ‘til spring! And stop moping over the fact that the General wouldn’t let you run off with Laurens to play soldier in the Carolinas!”

Alexander rolled his eyes, but nonetheless quickened his pace. They were nearly there, anyway. He pointedly did not respond to Tilghman’s comment about Laurens. Yes, he missed his friend. Yes, he wished the General had let him accompany Laurens down south to fight Cornwallis. None of that was a secret.

“Besides,” Tench added, “tonight’s going to be special! I overheard Dr. Cochran talking to the General – apparently Mrs. Cochran’s niece has come to stay with them. It’s Miss Elizabeth Schuyler, direct from Albany!”

Ah. So that explained Tench’s high spirits. Alexander could recall Tench waxing poetic over the vaunted Miss Schuyler more than once over the years. He had met back in ’75 during a visit he had made to the Albany area, calling her “good-natured” and describing her “dark, lovely eyes” and how they emphasized her “good temper and benevolence”. Tench had been clearly smitten with her, and still was, it appeared. [1]

Alexander himself could not claim any acquaintance with the lady. His trip to Albany after the victory at Saratoga had included a brief visit to General Schuyler’s home, where he had hoped to gain advice on the best manner to convince General Gates to release his vicelike grip on a number of troops who were desperately needed further south, but the lady in question had not been home at the time.[2] Still, he also recalled the joke she had made to Tilghman, which the man had passed along, about how she had teased him about his “upcoming nuptials” and that she looked forward to being “a bridesmaid at his wedding”. Alexander was not entirely sure of the context of this little joke – Tilghman had not retold it very well – but from what he could tell, that did not bode well for his friend’s chances with her, if she was talking about attending his bride rather than being the bride herself.

Finally, they arrived at their destination and made their way inside. Grateful to finally be out of the cold, Alexander sought and obtained a glass of punch. Sipping it, he was surprised to discover that it wasn’t half-bad. Whoever had organized the refreshments must have gotten creative, since it was far above the swill that was normally served.

It did not take long for the music and dancing to begin. General Washington, who greatly enjoyed dancing, led the first set by stepping out with Mrs. Greene. Alexander, knowing his duty to the ladies who had come tonight, partnered with a Miss Abigail Rollins, who had in the past proved a better dancer than conversationalist. This was the first time he had seen her since the previous winter, and time had not much improved her, as she proved to be as tongue-tied as ever. 

When the time came for the musicians and dancers alike to take a break, many broke into different groups, some taking the chance to reestablish acquaintances, some to discuss politics, and others simply to sit down and rest their tired feet. Alexander had thought to join the group surrounding the General – at least there he could likely be assured of some intelligent conversation – when someone calling his name through the crush caught his attention.

“Alexander! Colonel Hamilton!”

Alexander turned, and immediately brightened as a young woman, her dark hair freshly powdered, approached him, a beaming smile on her face. “Miss Livingston,” he said, suddenly feeling much cheered. He took her proffered hand and kissed it as he bowed to her. “How delightful to see that you are again come among us,” he said, feeling some measure of delight for the first time since the assembly had begun. “The room has become all the brighter from your amiable presence!”

She laughed, tapping her fan on his arm teasingly. “And you are as charming as ever, my dear friend,” she replied. “Be careful, Alexander, lest you give some poor girl the wrong idea.”

He gave her his best, most innocent expression, which only made her laugh more. As they settled into a conversation, Alexander could feel himself beginning to relax. A conversation with Kitty Livingston, a lady he had known for some years, since the days when he had boarded with her family while he attended school in Elizabethtown, was just what he needed. Someone he could engage in a conversation without undue expectations being raised.

However, he soon discovered that Kitty had other plans. 

After a little time had passed, where they had asked about mutual acquaintances and her family – everyone was well – Kitty’s gaze was caught by something over her shoulder. A mischievous sparkle entered her dark eyes. “Ah, Alexander,” she said, “There is someone you should meet.”

He eyed her curiously. “And who might that be, madam?”

Kitty did not respond directly, but instead waved her hand and called, “Eliza! Here, dear, you must meet Colonel Hamilton!”

Blinking at the sudden turn in conversation, Alexander turned in the same direction Kitty was waving at. Approaching them was another young woman, dressed in a deep green silk and wool with embroidered pink flowers. Her hair powdered like Kitty’s, but not enough to entirely disguise the rich, dark color. 

“Alexander,” Kitty said from his right, “please allow me to introduce my cousin, Miss Elizabeth Schuyler. Betsey, this is Colonel Alexander Hamilton, aide-de-camp to General Washington.”

Ah, so this was the lady that had so bewitched Tilghman. Taking her in, Alexander supposed he could understand the other man’s interest. While she would not be considered a conventional beauty – he imagined that most would say that Kitty was the fairer of the two ladies – there was no denying that she was still very handsome. No wispy, willowy thing, there appeared a measure of health and strength in how she carried herself. Suddenly, Alexander recalled a story Tilghman had told of Eliza climbing a steep hill to a waterfall without one bit of help, while all of the other ladies of the party had required the aid of the gentlemen to make it up the steep, slippery slope.

Her most striking feature, however, the one that caught his attention the most, was Miss Schuyler’s fine, dark eyes. They sparkled in the candlelight, and lit up her entire face as she smiled and curtsied to him. Alexander was startled to feel himself blushing a bit as he bowed in return. “Miss Schuyler,” he said, “a true pleasure.”

“Indeed, Colonel Hamilton,” Miss Schuyler responded. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance as well. My father has spoken highly of you and your talents. He asked me to convey his best wishes to you, should we have occasion to meet.”

Alexander was startled, but pleased. He had come to like and respect General Schuyler – though now technically he was Mr. Schuyler now, serving in Congress – when they had met during Alexander’s trip to Albany. It was gratifying to be remembered by such an excellent man.

As he fell into conversation with the two ladies, he could not help but take Miss Schuyler in further. It didn’t appear that Tilghman had exaggerated her qualities. There was something warm about the lady. She did not put on airs or give herself graces, but spoke gently and kindly. While she didn’t appear to have Kitty’s razor-sharp wit, she was by no means dull or simpering either. Miss Schuyler was well-informed of the doings of Congress – something Alexander attributed to her father’s position – and was keenly interested in the plight of the soldiers. “Mrs. Washington has invited me to join her on her rounds in visiting them,” she mentioned. Her expression was open and earnest. “I hope to be useful in any way I can.”

Soon enough, the musicians retook their positions and began to play again. A young man, a major, appeared and bowed to Kitty. “Miss Livingston, I believe I have the pleasure of the next set?”

Kitty beamed. “Indeed so, Major Gibbons.” Taking his outstretched hand, she flashed a smile in both Alexander and Miss Schuyler’s direction before stepping off with the man, leaving the two of them alone.

Alexander glanced around. He did not see anyone else approaching to claim Miss Schuyler for the next dance, which surprised him. New arrivals were always a subject of much interest, and their cards would be filled up quickly. In fact, he was equally surprised that Tilghman hadn’t bounded over to her like an overexcited pup, given his earlier anticipation of her company.

“If you are not engaged, Miss Schuyler,” Alexander said impulsively, “might I induce you to join me on the floor?”

A flicker of surprise crossed her handsome features, and then she smiled at him. “I would be honored, Colonel,” she replied, her voice soft. Obligingly, he held out his hand to her, and she laid her gloved hand in his own so that he might lead her out among the other couples.

It turned out, Alexander soon discovered, that Miss Schuyler was as excellent a dancer as she was good company off of the dance floor. At end of the assembly, he had the chance to escort her out to the sleigh that would bear her back to aunt and uncle’s lodgings. He aided her into the sleigh, helping her settle into the seat next to Kitty, and then kissed her hand before stepping back. 

“I have had a most enjoyable evening in your company, Miss Schuyler,” Alexander said. “I do hope we shall meet again in the near future.”

“As do I, Colonel Hamilton,” Miss Schuyler said, her smile now taking on a shy but pleased quality. She then glanced at Kitty briefly, before adding, “We were planning to go for a sleigh ride in a few days. We should be delighted if you would join us.” [3]

He bowed. “It would be my honor,” Alexander said, and was pleased to feel that he truly meant it. He found he rather liked this young lady that Kitty had introduced him to. 

There was no chance to say anything else, because at that moment the driver of their sleigh flicked the whip and the horses started forward, carrying the ladies off.

As he walked back toward headquarters a short time later, Alexander found that he did not so much mind the cold as he had earlier in the evening. He felt pleasantly warm the whole way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Tench Tilghman was very complimentary of Eliza when he described her in his diary, and it sounds as though he did indeed have something of a crush on her.
> 
> [2] This is speculation on my part. There really is no way of knowing for certain one way or the other if Eliza and Alexander first met when he visited the area after the Battle of Saratoga. It’s possible, of course, but it’s equally possible that Eliza may have been in Boston at the time, visiting Angelica. Chernow, for one, seems to believe that they did meet at this time, but he does not cite a source to back this belief up. All we really do know is that Alexander arrived in Albany in early November 1777 and did visit the Schuyler family home while in the area. But I would point out that, at this time, Angelica was pregnant with her first child (who would be born in April 1778), so it’s possible that Eliza had gone to visit and help her prepare for the birth and motherhood to come. I went with that interpretation here.
> 
> [3] [Alexander Hamilton to Catharine Livingston and Elizabeth Schuyler, circa January/February 1780](https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-02-02-0587).


	19. Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander races back to Philadelphia after receiving a terrifying letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19\. **Pain**
> 
>  **Warning:** Discussion of miscarriage and implied depression.
> 
> This one really brings on the angst, everyone. Fair warning.

_Among other reasons for wishing your return is Mrs. Hamilton’s earnest desire. It seems she has had, or has been in danger of a miscarriage, which has much alarmed her. But Doctor Khun by whom she is attended with Doctor Stephens, assures that she is in no danger. However she is extremely desirous of your presence in order to tranquilize her._ [1]

The words, read only once, still managed to burn through his mind. A miscarriage. This had never happened before, not once. Eliza always maintained excellent health when she was carrying their children. She seemed to blossom, keeping a rosy, healthy color about her cheeks as her belly grew. The births were always painful, that was true, but she came through each time without cause for alarm. Why was it different now? What had happened?

He really ought to be truthful with himself. He knew what had happened, what was different. Barely a year ago, both he and Eliza had nearly lost their lives during the yellow fever epidemic. It had only been thanks to the miracle of Ned’s tender care that they had survived. Then, there had been a great deal of sickness among the children, particularly little Johnny, which had only added to the stress Eliza labored under. 

Then, of course, there was Alexander himself. Though he had done as much as he could to aid her in caring for their children while they were ill, he had seen even then that Eliza was not doing well. Then he had insisted on accompanying the army as they dealt with these rascals in the back country. She had asked him not to go. Just once, but she had asked. When Alexander had insisted that he had to go, if only because of Henry Knox’s lengthy and irritating absence from Philadelphia, she had fallen silent and not brought the subject up again, not bothering to argue with him. 

He could still remember his last sight of her as he’d ridden off. Pale almost to the color of milk, a strange thinness about her person even though he knew she was eating regular meals. She’d looked exhausted, despite her frequent efforts to rest whenever possible.

Her condition had not improved in his absence. Mother Schuyler and his brother-in-law, Philip Jeremiah, had visited Philadelphia while Alexander had been away, and they had been much alarmed by Eliza’s fragile health. They had even tried to convince her to travel back with them to Albany, where she could rest among and be supported by the family. _She refuses to leave without you_ , Philip wrote, _and will not hear of the children leaving either._

_Hurry back, brother. End this and come home._

Alexander recalled wincing when he read of Eliza’s refusal to leave the state without him accompanying her. He could guess very easily as to why she refused to go, even if she had not confessed her reasons to her mother and brother. So, he had had done his best to hurry things along, but everything could be handled only so fast. After Philip’s letter, there had been little news. Eliza wrote to him when she could, but she said little of her health, focusing instead on the children. She said nothing of him coming home either. The tone of her letters was brittle, almost wooden. It had only increased his disquiet, but there was little he could do except keep doing what he was doing so that he could return home.

And then, finally, came _the_ letter. Knox said Eliza was ‘extremely desirous’ of Alexander’s presence. Knox wasn’t known to exaggerate in his choice of words, and really, they had only confirmed the unease he had been living more and more with as the weeks passed.

She needed him. She had needed him before, but he had still gone away, so certain that he was indispensable to ending this crisis with the whiskey rebels. So he’d left her alone in a way he had never done before while she was carrying a child. 

And now that child was gone.

Alexander could feel the tears stinging his cheeks as he guided his horse onto Market Street, the setting sun shining now directly into his eyes. He barely noted passing the Presidential Mansion, his focus solely on locating a familiar gate in front of a lovely house of red brick. 

He spotted the hitching post first, the one Alexander had ordered installed in front of the house for the use of guests or government officials that might arrive there on horseback. It was deserted at the moment, but that meant little. The doctors might have arrived on foot, or their horses may have been put in the barn behind the house, particularly if their stay was going to be of some duration. 

Bringing his horse to a halt, Alexander vaulted off of his horse, and stumbled a bit when he landed hard. It had been a long time since he had done something like that, and he was no longer twenty-one. Getting his feet back under him, he looked toward the men of his escort, who had actually managed to keep up with him. Tossing one of them the reins of his horse, Alexander turned on his heel and strode to the front door.

Someone must have been watching for him, because the door opened before he could even reach for the knob. In the doorway stood Ned, stripped down to his waistcoat and breeches, with tired, dark-rimmed eyes. “Ham,” he greeted solemnly, stepping back to allow Alexander to enter the house.

“How is she?” he demanded as he entered the front hall. He struggled out of his military coat, both because it wasn’t needed – the house was more than sufficiently warm – and the sudden feeling that it did not belong, that it was almost insulting to be wearing it in this house of mourning. Eliza had not wanted him to go, had not wanted him out there risking his life when his family needed him here, but he had insisted on doing so, had insisted on playing soldier again, to relive the glories of his youth.

Well, he had, and now he, they, were paying the price for it.

Ned, to his credit, didn’t try to delay or prevaricate in his response. “Mrs. Hamilton is resting comfortably upstairs,” he said. “Mrs. Washington has been here for some hours, sitting with her so that she is not alone.”

Alexander barely waited for him to finish before he started to move toward the stairs, but was brought to a halt when Ned’s hand closed around his arm. “Ham, wait.”

He tugged at the other man’s grip. “Not now, Ned,” he said impatiently. “I need to see my wife.”

Ned didn’t relent, however, meeting him with an equally firm gaze. “You need to collect yourself first, Alexander,” he said. “You’ll do Mrs. Hamilton no good if you go rushing in there and disturbing her from the sleep she needs to preserve her health. Plus, there’s more that you need to know.”

Alexander wanted to shrug his old friend off and continue on his way to reassure himself of his wife’s survival, but his words struck him. Eliza needed to rest to get better. He shouldn’t disturb her. This was about what _she_ needed, not him. 

“Fine,” Alexander said through gritted teeth, and allowed Ned pull him into the dining room. There remained a fair bit of food on the table, looking like the remains of a buffet. There had been others here, but must have left before his arrival. At Ned’s gesture, he sat down at the table, eyeing the food warily. He wasn’t hungry.

“You should eat, Ham,” Ned said firmly as he joined him, seemingly reading his mind. “The last thing anyone needs is you fainting from lack of food.”

He shot his old friend an impatient look, but decided not to bother arguing. He picked at some of the meats and bread, avoiding the fruits.

“The children?” Alexander asked suddenly as he began to eat, the silence of the house falling heavy on his ears. Surely there should have been some noise coming from them? It was too early for them to have gone to bed. 

“The President took them to stay at the Presidential Mansion,” Ned informed him. “He thought it best so that Mrs. Hamilton wouldn’t be disturbed.” He paused before adding, “Young Philip proved himself very responsible, keeping his younger siblings in hand.”

Alexander nodded. Under any other circumstances, he would be pleased by the news that his firstborn had handled himself so well. When he finally finished what was on his plate, he made to stand, asking, “Are you satisfied now, Ned? Can I see my wife now?”

“Just a minute, Alexander,” Ned said. “It’s important that you know her condition before you go up there.” 

He stilled. Her condition? What did that mean? Was Eliza in further danger? “What is it?” he demanded.

Ned took a deep breath. “While I know that Secretary Knox’s letter intimated that Mrs. Hamilton suffered a miscarriage, Dr. Kuhn and I are more inclined to judge it a stillbirth. The babe was well formed, but was small, too small to have survived.”

Alexander closed his eyes. _Poor, poor lamb_ , he thought, fighting back a wave of tears. He’d focused so much on Eliza that he had not given the child much thought. “What was it?” he asked. “A boy or a girl?”

“A boy,” Ned responded, his expression shifting from professional to sympathetic. 

Another boy. They’d hoped for a girl this time, to give Angelica and Fanny a baby sister on which to dote, but they would have welcomed a son with equal joy. In either case, he and Eliza hadn’t had the chance to discuss names. Their poor boy would go into the grave without anything to mark his existence.[2]

Taking a deep, shaky breath to stem the tide of tears, he whispered, “I’d like to see my wife now.”

Thankfully, this time Ned didn’t try to stop him when he stood and strode toward the stairs.

Just as Ned had said, Mrs. Washington was with Eliza, having pulled a seat close to the bed. An embroidery hoop sat in her lap, but it was clear she had given up on working on it, perhaps due to the fact that only a single candle was lit in the room. The older woman looked up as he pushed the door open further and stepped into the room. A relieved expression crossed Mrs. Washington’s face.

“Ah, Colonel,” she said upon seeing him, “I’m glad to see you’ve returned.” She glanced toward the bed. “She’s been dreaming, and calling for you.”

Mrs. Washington was kind enough to quickly vacate her position and depart, leaving Alexander standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at his sleeping wife. Though the candle provided little in the way of light, he could see how, if anything, Eliza’s color seemed worse than it had been when he’d left. Her dark hair had been braided back away from her face, but that only emphasized how gaunt and haggard she looked. Even with her eyes closed in sleep, he could see the furrow of her brow, and Alexander knew that if he touched her cheek, he’d feel the clammy sensation of dried tears.

“Oh, love,” he murmured, drawing in a ragged breath. Sliding around to the side of the bed, Alexander unbuttoned his waistcoat and shrugged it off, tossing it carelessly onto the chair Mrs. Washington had left behind. After removing his boots, he crawled into their bed and curled himself around Eliza’s side, draping an arm over her and gently pulling her close. He buried his face into the crook of her neck.

Her belly was still swollen, he realized, like the baby was still there, though Alexander knew from experience that that would soon fade. Eventually, Eliza’s body would begin to return to its normal shape, and although the marks of her pregnancies would remain, there would be no other sign that there had ever been a sixth Hamilton child.

She’d had to deal with this all by herself. While Alexander recognized that she had had the support of friends like the President and Mrs. Washington, and the care of talented physicians like Ned and Dr. Kuhn, Eliza had still been alone. Who had been here that could truly share in her grief and sorrow? 

Who _should have been_ here? He should have, but he hadn’t, placing the suppression of a bunch of unruly rascals over Eliza’s health and wellbeing. Oh, there had been many good reasons, all of which Alexander listed to Eliza before he left, in his own head in the ensuing weeks he was away, and on the frantic, harried race back to Philadelphia.

But now… lying here, cradling Eliza’s frail, fragile form in his arms, he realized just how hollow those reasons were. Alexander should have been here, taking care of his wife during her time in need. But he had turned his back on this duty, the sacred duty of any husband, and now God saw fit to punish him for it. 

The tears came silently and, while part of him fretted about disturbing Eliza, once they started, he had not the strength to stop them. “I’m sorry, my Betsey,” he whispered into her neck, clutching her even more tightly to him. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Alexander held her close all through the night. He must have slept at some point, because when he opened his eyes, he found, first, that the dawn’s earliest light was beginning to creep through the window, second, that he was lying on his back and, third, Eliza had shifted away and now lay on her side, her back to him. Tremors shook her body, and he could hear the sound of repressed sobs.

He sat up hurriedly and reached for her, saying, “Betsey?” He pulled at her shoulder gently, urging her to turn back to him. He could feel the stiff resistance in her body for a moment, but then it gave away and she let him bring her around to face him. 

Eliza’s cheeks and eyes were flushed and red from crying, and he wished he had a handkerchief to wipe away the tears. Instead, Alexander gathered her back into his arms, cradling her close and letting her bury her face in his chest while he rested his chin on top of her head. He rocked her as he would rock one of their children when they were ill, trying to soothe her even as he struggled to keep his own grief in check.

They stayed like that for a while, remaining undisturbed by the outside world, for which Alexander was grateful. Much as he longed to see his children, right now it was their mother who had to be his first priority. She had suffered his neglect, his disrespect, for far, far too long, and this was the terrible, terrible result. 

“We’re going to leave, Betsey.” The words flew from his mouth before they’d even fully formed in his head, but as they settled into his thoughts, everything began to take shape. Correspondingly, her shaking body stilled in his arms. “I’m going to start writing my resignation.[3] I’ll submit it to the President, and I’ll start making preparations for us to return to New York.” He leaned back and looked down into her face. “We can perhaps stay with your parents for a time? Would you like that?”

She stared up at him with watery eyes, and he was not blind to the naked skepticism in them. He winced, knowing that she had a right to be doubtful. Alexander had talked of resigning before, had made vague promises that they would return to private life, but he had never followed through. He had made excuses for it, citing this or that crisis that required his guiding hand. Eliza had endured and soldiered onward, even as their continued residence in a city that she had never truly warmed to wore on her. She’d even endured a scolding by letter from Angelica when she heard the rumors of Alexander’s considered resignation from public service, though he didn’t think she ever responded to it. 

“It’s time to go home,” Alexander said, and then he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I know you have cause to be suspicious, darling, but I truly mean it. We’re going home.”

Eliza did not respond, but she slowly sank into him, relaxing into his embrace for the first time in months. She buried her face into his chest, and her fingers gripped his shirt in the grip of someone who had been drowning, but now had something to keep them afloat.

Alexander refused to disappoint her. Not again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] [Henry Knox to Alexander Hamilton, 24 November 1794](https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-17-02-0369). 
> 
> [2] In truth, we don’t know the gender of the baby Eliza and Alexander lost at this time. No record was ever left that I know of, not even where they might have buried the poor mite. I chose to go with the baby being a boy because it more likely to me. Out of eight children who came from successful births, six were sons, indicating that, on a physical level, Alexander was more apt to fathering boys.
> 
> [3] [Alexander Hamilton to George Washington, 1 December 1794](https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-17-02-0392). Alexander certainly did not waste time, did he? Knox’s note above was dated November 24th, and literally within 7 days, Alexander had received it, raced back to Philadelphia to Eliza, and then wrote his dated resignation, which I imagine Washington received that same day or close to it, given its important contents. One week.
> 
> The hints of Eliza's depression in this chapter are my invention. We have no real indication of her mental state during this time (unless you count what Henry Knox told Alexander in his letter), but given everything that was happening, I could imagine that it was possible.


	20. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late on a Sunday night, Alexander looks in on his family before retiring to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20\. **Moonlight**

The heat had departed with the sun, leaving that rarest of things – coolness in high summer. Alexander climbed the steps of the house, his way lit by a single candle. At the landing, he quietly crossed to the tiny room that his girls shared and peeked inside the door, which had been left ajar. He was pleased to see that both Angelica and Liza were fast asleep in their beds, Liza even snoring ever so slightly, which made him smile fondly as he stepped away, leaving them to their dreams.

He walked quietly down the hallway, past his own chamber, and repeated the process with the boys room. Phil was curled up, quite content in his own tiny bed nearest to the door. James, Alex, and Johnny were also tucked away neatly, but William lay sprawled across his own mattress, one leg thrown haphazardly over the side. Suppressing a chuckle, Alexander quietly opened the door further and slipped inside. He tiptoed across the floor and carefully nudged the boy into a more comfortable position in his bed. They would all be leaving early in the morning for the city, so it was best that he be well-rested. 

That accomplished, Alexander retraced his steps and then entered his own chamber. The room was unlit, of course, and the curtains fluttered in the breeze that wafted in through the open windows. Moonlight also poured in from outside, giving the room an ethereal glow and its path landed upon the bed. Following its rays, he lit upon the sight of his Eliza, curled up on her side of the bed, the blankets shoved down at her feet.

He crept closer to the bed, gazing down on the face of his sleeping beloved. He could not help but be struck by the sight of her. In his their youths, Eliza had always been described as handsome, as opposed to traditionally beautiful, but to Alexander, she had always been the epitome of loveliness. The young, spritely girl he’d met in Morristown – had it really been over twenty-four years now? – whose fine eyes had bedazzled so many of the officers, had only grown and matured in her beauty as the years had passed.

Smiling to himself, Alexander quietly exchanged his breeches and shirt for his thinnest nightshirt before joining Eliza in the bed. She did not wake at the shifting of their mattress, but seemed to know that he had joined her, because she tossed and turned before settling down again with her head upon his chest.

_Yet another blessing from the cool, moonlit breeze_ , he thought. It was more often than not too hot for them to sleep so close together at this time of the year.

He wrapped his arms loosely around Eliza, holding her close and pressing a kiss upon her head. Letting his head fall back upon his pillow, Alexander turned to stare out the window next to the bed. Spending the day with the family had been the right decision, he thought, recalling everything they had done together since the morning. Reading the Sunday service to them over breakfast, aiding them in their school work – he hoped his notes to James were of some use to him – and playing with them out on the lawn, even dining with them _al fresco_ before laying upon the grass until the stars shone down on them from the sky. He could still feel the weight of Liza resting upon his chest, and of William pressed against his side.

It had been a wonderful day and, God willing, there would be many more days like it. But, if there were not, Alexander thought pensively, then at least his Betsey and his children could look back on the eighth day of July in the year 1804 and recall a golden, happy day. Let that be a gift they could treasure for all their days, if the worst should happen this coming Thursday.

He looked down at Eliza’s sleeping form and again relished the moonlight spilling across their bed, giving him a crisp, clear look at her. The thought of losing this, of being separated from her, was unconscionable, and as though warding off evil, Alexander pressed another kiss to her head. 

Burr would be reasonable, he thought to reassure himself. This was not about killing each other. Burr might claim that this whole matter was about insults, but at its heart, Alexander knew that this was about honor, about leadership. Burr wanted to make inroads into the Federalist leadership, and that Alexander could not allow. Washington had once said that Burr was too much of an intriguer to be trusted, and he understood now what he’d meant. 

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. No, he’d not think on that now. Alexander had done all he could to prepare. Now, he’d just enjoy this night, lying in his Betsey’s embrace, before he made the journey into town for the week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description of the day Alexander spent with his family the Sunday before the duel comes from accounts left behind by his children.


	21. Memorialize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza gazed into the mirror, taking stock of her appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 21\. **~~Valley~~ Memorialize**

Eliza gazed into the mirror, taking stock of her appearance. Her hair had been primped and allowed to fly free, to the point where she hardly recognized herself. It had been so long since she’d done something like this, and it felt strange to see herself in such a state. Reaching up, she tucked the strand of black pearls more securely amid her hair, and made sure that the matching bow was fixed as well.

“Eliza?” 

Her eyes left her own image in the mirror and turned to gaze upon Alexander’s reflection. He stood in the doorway, dressed in a simple black coat with a white cravat. Unlike her, he had chosen to powder his hair, giving him that dignified air that he so often sought when sitting for his portraits. Eliza herself had decided against powder, recalling that she had worn powder in her hair the last time she had sat for a portrait – goodness, had it really been eight years? 

In truth, she had been hesitant to agree to all of this. Their finances still were not entirely repaired, and Eliza had thought it an unnecessary expense. But Alexander had insisted on it, and had even located a painter of portraits who charged much less than the likes of Mr. Stuart and Mr. Trumbull. The portraits would not be large, grand things, but they would be perfectly respectable, as apparently Mr. Sharples came highly recommended for both his talents and his fees. 

Eliza remembered the bright, excited expression Alexander had worn when he’d told her of the arrangement and, in the end, just hadn’t the heart to resist further. 

Standing up from her dressing table, Eliza turned to face him, letting him see the entirety of what she had chosen to be painted in. The pearls had been a gift from her parents some years before, but the dress was relatively new, a confection of white and cream silk and taffeta, with a low-cut bodice. 

Alexander’s eyes roved over her, taking everything in, and Eliza tried not to laugh. “Do I pass muster, husband?” she asked him lightly as she swept closer, intending to begin the journey downstairs. She didn’t even make it out of the room, because Alexander caught her by the arms, leaning in to nuzzle at her exposed neck. 

“You are ravishing, my love,” he murmured against her skin, pressing a kiss on her pulse. “And so… inspiring. I have so many ideas now… ideas that will delay our appointment with Mr. Sharples.”

Eliza shivered against the sensation of his lips on her skin. “Now, now,” she breathed, and then firmly pushed him back a step. “I did not do all of this just to have it taken apart within five minutes, dearest,” she told him, and then she gave him her a naughty grin. “You’ll just have to wait until this evening. We shan’t be interrupted then.”

It was true, after all. With the children all visiting her parents, she and Alexander were in that rarest of states – alone in the house. And he was also remembering that, if the hungry gleam in his eyes was anything to go by. 

“Just you wait, my lovely minx,” Alexander murmured in her ear as she slipped past him. 

They made the journey downstairs to the parlor together. As they entered, Eliza was pleased to see that Mr. Sharples was already waiting for them, his easel and other tools already arranged neatly. What surprised her, however, was that he was not alone. He was accompanied by a young matron with chestnut curls peeking out from beneath her cap, who also had several sketching tools of her own organized and laid out neatly.

“Ah yes,” Alexander said from beside her, as though he was just remembering a previously forgotten detail. “My dear, permit me to introduce you to Mrs. Sharples. She is an artist herself, and often paints alongside Mr. Sharples here.”

Pleasantries were exchanged, but they were short. It was obvious to Eliza that the couple clearly wished to get on with their work, so she did nothing to impede them beyond asking if they would care for any refreshment. They politely accepted the offer, and Eliza called for their hired girl to bring them a tray of tea and other dainties that could easily be nibbled on while the couple went about their work.

It was Mr. Sharples who guided her and Alexander to sit in the pose he required. Instead of facing forward, he would be painting them both in profile. “Please,” he told Eliza, gesturing to one of the chairs, “sit here, Mrs. Hamilton. This angle will permit us to an excellent view of all pertinent details.”

By which, Eliza gathered, he meant her bow and pearls. So her efforts had not gone to waste, she thought, pleased.

Alexander was then left to the other chair, which was directly in front of Eliza, placing his back to her. As he seated himself, Eliza noted that, yet again, he had not completely covered his hair in powder, covering only the hair atop his head, at his temples, and part of the way down. The last few inches were still quite visibly their normal color. She smiled in amusement.

“Ah!” Mrs. Sharples cried out suddenly, “Just there, Mrs. Hamilton! Pray, do not move an inch!”

Eliza blinked, surprised by the younger woman’s exuberance, but did as she was told.

“You have a lovely smile, Mrs. Hamilton,” Mrs. Sharples continued, to which her husband hummed his agreement. Eliza could not see them clearly, but from the corner of her eye, she could detect the way their pencils flew over their work. “Mr. Hamilton showed us the portrait created by Mr. Earl, and he was most insistent that we do our best to capture that same liveliness. I had worried that we might not be able to, for people so often change over time, but now I see we need not have been concerned.”

“Quite so,” Alexander agreed cheerfully. “My Betsey is as lovely as she was the day we met!”

Eliza laughed. “And you are just as smooth-talking, my Alexander.”

The rest of the sitting passed pleasantly enough, and within an hour or two, Mr. and Mrs. Sharples had done enough preliminary work that they could return to their workshop. They would, of course, need to return for supplementary sketches, to catch further details, but that would not be for some days yet, and promised to send word to arrange a convenient time for another sitting.

Eliza saw them to the door with Alexander, and watched as they hurried down the street on foot. She turned away when Alexander shut the door on the outside world, and spotted a few pieces of mail sitting on the entry table. She walked over and picked them up, and brightened when she spotted her sister’s familiar handwriting. Before Eliza could open it, however, Alexander cleared his throat behind her. She turned and found him leaning against the closed door, staring at her intently. 

She cocked her head. “Is something wrong, dearest?”

He shook his head. “No, just remembering what you said earlier.” Alexander gave her a slow, almost predatory smile, and asked, “Must we really wait until evening?”

Eliza paused, and then remembered her earlier words. She eyed him and, after setting Angelica’s letter back down, tapped her lips with her finger, giving him a mock-considering look. “Hmm,” she said. “We really should. ‘Tis almost supper time, and we –”

Alexander cut her off as he darted toward her, clearly intent on ambushing her. Eliza, however, knew this game very well, and her reflexes could be just as fast as his. In a flash, she turned on her heel and fled before him, holding her voluminous skirts up as she raced up the stairs. She could hear him pounding up the steps after her, just a few feet behind, and Eliza couldn’t help but laugh as she struggled to increase her pace in spite of her cumbersome attire. 

He would catch her, of course. Alexander always caught her, not that she minded.

Most likely, they would have a late supper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The portraits Eliza and Alexander are sitting for her are the [1795 portrait](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Schuyler_Hamilton#/media/File:Elizabeth_Hamilton_portrait_ca_1795.jpg) for Eliza, and the [1796 portrait](https://npg.si.edu/object/npg_NPG.70.55) of Alexander. Both portraits are credited to James Sharples, but his third wife, Ellen, was very much an artist in her own right, and was known to work right alongside her husband. She painted a portrait of George Washington in the same year as the one of Alexander (the two look very similar to my admittedly untrained eye). I combined their sittings, just so Eliza and Alexander could keep one another company, and have some fun together afterward.


	22. Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza's latest round with childbirth brings a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 22\. **~~Craft~~ Daughter**

Eliza stared down at the babe nestled securely in her arms. While childbirth had become something of a routine for her, this being her seventh child, Eliza could honestly admit that the result of this delivery was, though not entirely unique, still quite unusual. Eliza was used to birthing boys, and done so every time before this, save for her dear Angelica. In all honesty, she had long given up on ever seeing another daughter born.

And yet, here she was, hold a baby girl in her arms. 

A finger appeared alongside the sleeping child’s face, caressing her soft, pink cheek. “She’s so tiny,” Alexander murmured as he sat down beside her on the bed. Eliza glanced up at him, taking in the quiet awe on his face. “Was Angelica this small when she was born?”

In truth, she hadn’t. Angelica had been a round little thing, adorable in her chubbiness. This new little one hadn’t the meat on her bones that her older sister had had at birth, and Eliza couldn’t help but be concerned about that. She would have to watch her carefully, making sure that she was fed regularly and often.[1]

“She’ll do just fine,” Eliza said, pressing her lips to the child’s forehead. “She’s a Hamilton. Hamiltons are strong.”

Alexander laughed softly and ran his hand over the back of her head, pressing her lightly to lean against him. “That they are. It comes from their mother,” he said. 

Eliza let herself relax against him, not taking their eyes off this little one. “Born just in time for a new century,” she commented. 

“Indeed, she was,” Alexander agreed. “It shall be something for her to tell her children one day, that she was one of the last children born in this century.”[2]

Eliza nodded, but then asked what was, perhaps, the most obvious question. “Whatever shall we name her?” She and Alexander had stopped discussing names for a girl after Johnny was born. The last weeks she had been carrying William had been far too stressful for both of them to think of names for a child, boy or girl, and so William had not received his name until after his birth. For this one, they had simply assumed that they would be adding another boy to their stock and had planned based on that assumption.

“Oh,” Alexander said brightly, “that’s easy enough!”

She paused in her perusal of her new daughter’s face to look up at him quizzically. “Is it?” she asked.

Alexander’s gaze was warm and loving and he leaned in to kiss the tip of Eliza’s nose. “Oh yes,” he assured her, “very easy.” A teasing glint entered his eyes as he said nothing further.

Eliza rolled her eyes. “Darling,” she said slowly, “I have just given birth to a child. I am exhausted. Now is not the time to play games with me, so it’s best that you be straightforward. Come back tomorrow for me to be more responsive to your joshing.”

He gave her a mock-pouting expression, but accepted the truth of her words. His eyes turned back to their daughter and, if possible, softened even more. “She shall be Eliza Hamilton,” he said simply.

Just five words, and yet they could have knocked Eliza off her feet, had she been on said feet. She gaped at him. Never, even back when they had still talked about naming potential daughters, had they ever mentioned naming a daughter for her. Angelica had been named for Eliza’s dearest, most wonderful sister. Some other names Eliza and Alexander had discussed during the times she had carried Alex and James had included Catharine and Rachel, the names of their respective mothers. Alexander had even considered the name Anne, for his beloved cousin.[3] Never once had Eliza’s own name come up in conversation, nor had Eliza much considered it. 

“After me?” she managed to say.

Alexander nodded. “Who better to name our girl for, than for the strongest, most forgiving woman in the world?” he asked, his expression losing all levity. He was clearly quite serious. 

Eliza could feel her cheeks flush at his words, and she let her head rest on his shoulder so she could look down at the baby again. This little girl was, she supposed, a symbol of forgiveness. With the old wounds dredged up and new wounds inflicted by his pamphlet two years before, they had not had an easy time of it. There had been times when she could not even bear to look at him, and Alexander knew it. On one occasion, she had all but fled from him to Albany, just to get away from him.[4]

In the end, she had found herself with a choice – let her marriage crumble to nothing under the weight of her husband’s sins and miscalculations, or to seek to infuse it with new life, to let it grow anew, let it grow stronger. On the face of it, it had been an easy choice. Throughout it all, Eliza had never ceased to love her Alexander. Love does not die easily, and hers was strong, even after all he had done. But in truth, forgiveness is perhaps the hardest thing to bring about, and it came slowly. Even after returning from Albany, determined in her choice, none of it was easy. There were days when someone would say something, however innocent, that would prod at those old wounds. But, as time passed, those instances happened less and less.

Alexander had certainly done his part. He too had been just as determined to have their marriage survive, and wanted to prove himself worthy of her forgiveness. He worked to be more considerate of Eliza, of the family, taking them into consideration when he made important choices that would impact them all. At the very least, he discussed those choices with Eliza, instead of unilaterally choosing for all of them, as most men did.

In now, here they were, bound together more tightly than ever before, and with a new baby to love. Eliza could not be certain of exactly when this little one was conceived of course, but she could count. Sometime in late February, or perhaps early March, she guessed. Alexander had been home for much of that time, and they had enjoyed a great deal of time together, both with the children and when they were alone.

Yes, this baby had been conceived in the spirit and letter of forgiveness, and had been born into a family that was a bit storm-battered, but all the stronger for it. She was a blessing, and she would be loved all her days for it.

Eliza looked up at Alexander, and she smiled her agreement. “Eliza Hamilton,” she murmured, and then leaned up to press her lips to his in a sweet, tender kiss.

Eliza Hamilton snuffled, and then did her best to nuzzle even closer in her mother’s embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Eliza Hamilton Holly was, it appears, a sickly infant, enough that Alexander was quite concerned about her, and [wrote as much](https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-24-02-0163) to Eliza, insisting that she write to him often about herself and the children while he was away.
> 
> [2] Alexander could not know that little Eliza would never have any children of her own. She and her husband, Sydney Augustus Holly, would remain childless, and would also, from what I can see, live their entire married life with Eliza. Mother and daughter appeared to be especially close, and so Holly moved to the Grange with them when he married the younger Eliza in July 1825.
> 
> [3] This would be Anne Lytton Venton Mitchell, Alexander’s first cousin. According to [Michael Newton’s research](http://discoveringhamilton.com/alexander-hamilton-education-benefactor/), she did a great deal to cover the cost of Alexander’s educational expenses in his early years in the colonies. Clearly, she continued to mean a great deal to him, and he even penned [one final note](https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-26-02-0001-0262) to Eliza about her the day before the duel, claiming that he was “under the greatest obligations” to her and asking Eliza to do as much as she could for her.
> 
> [4] See Chapter 6: Toxic.
> 
> Personally, I consider the birth of little Eliza to be kind of the zenith of Alexander and Eliza’s happiness, one they would spend the next several years falling from. Less than a month after little Eliza’s birth, they would endure the sudden, unexpected death of George Washington (on Alexander and Eliza’s wedding anniversary no less). The loss of his political mentor/benefactor would leave Alexander even more reduced in the political arenas than he already was, and, as many biographers have pointed out, Alexander would suffer for the lack of Washington’s guiding – and sometimes restraining – hand. From then on, they suffered one loss after another. Peggy died in 1801 (though they seem to have been expecting it, since her health had been in decline for some time), as did Philip. There was one semi-bright spot in the birth of Little Phil in June 1802, though they had also lost Martha Washington just short of two weeks before that. Eliza’s mother would die suddenly in 1803, and so would Angelica’s ten/eleven-year-old son, Alexander Church. Then, of course, Alexander himself would die in the duel with Burr, and then Philip Schuyler would follow his son-in-law to the grave just a few short months later in 1804.


	23. Address

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's done."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 23\. **~~The Unknown~~ Address**

The two simple words, uttered late into the evening, caused Eliza to look up from the piece of embroidery she had been working at since the children had been sent off to bed. Setting it down in her lap, she stared at him with wide eyes. “Are you certain?” she asked him.

Alexander slumped back in his seat, his exhaustion clear, and tossed his pen onto the desk in front of him. “Yes,” he replied, “or at least I have a draft.” He smiled at her. “You’ve already heard most of it, but the last few paragraphs need your keen ear before I can send it off to the President. Will you listen, my dear Eliza?”

Eliza laughed. “Moliere’s nurse was ever ready to serve. How can I do any different?”[1]

Beaming, Alexander reached out and first took up a nearby glass of wine, drinking down the remains of its contents. After returning the glass to the desk, he then picked up one of the sheets before and began to read. “Though, in reviewing the events of my administration, I cannot determine any error…”

As he read, Eliza listened to him and the words carefully, considering how well they rolled off of Alexander’s tongue. Slowly, she stood up, dropping her embroidery hoop onto the seat behind her, and made her way around his desk. She came to a stop beside him, and leaned against him, brushing a hand down the back of his head, smoothing his hair as she did so. Alexander did not pause in his reading, but Eliza saw him smile at her touch. He reached up and wrapped his free arm around her waist, urging her even closer. 

When Alexander finished, she took the paper out of his hand and looked at it more closely. “I think it very fine, my love,” she said softly. “An excellent tribute to the President. Though,” Eliza added, “there are a few awkward phrases that I noted.” She gestured toward his abandoned pen. “May I?”

Alexander nodded, “Of course!” Leaning forward, he took the pen and held it out to her with a gallant flourish, as though he were offering her a flower. Smiling, Eliza accepted it. When she shifted, intending to move closer to the desk so that she might write a few notes, Alexander instead pulled her closer, doing so with such swiftness that she had not the chance to resist, and just like that, Eliza found herself sitting in her husband’s lap.

“Alexander!” Her admonishment was weakened by her sudden burst of laughter, and he just grinned at her unrepentantly. Shaking her head, Eliza let him hold her in place, but leaned forward and began to make notes.

“This part ought to be more in line with the President’s tone of modesty,” she murmured as she began to scribble. “And here, perhaps emphasize his long tenure of service.” She made a few other marks upon the paper and then stopped, satisfied.

Alexander leaned forward, his chest pressed firmly against her back, and peered over her shoulder to see what she had written. “In reviewing the events of my administration, I _am unconscious of intentional error_ ,” he read. “ _I am nevertheless too sensible of my defects not to think it probable that I may have committed many errors._ ” Alexander considered the words, and then nodded. Eliza sat quietly, letting him continue to consider her suggested changes.

“After forty-five years of my life dedicated to its service with an upright zeal, the faults of incompetent abilities will be consigned to oblivion, as I myself must soon be to the mansions of rest,” Alexander recited. “Yes,” he agreed, “that sounds very much like the President.” He subsequently agreed to the rest of her notes before setting the paper down on the desk with its fellows before kissing her cheek. “Thank you, my love.”

Eliza smiled. “I am glad to help.” He had been working at a feverish pace on the address ever since President Washington had sent him the compilation of his own notes and the address Mr. Madison had written near the end of the President’s first term in office. “It is a fine tribute to his service, and full of excellent advice that men in government would do well to follow.”

He sighed, some of his good humor fading. “I would be happier if he would stay longer,” Alexander admitted. “It was the one of the few things Jefferson and I agreed upon four years ago – that the government would fall apart without Washington to lead it. That fear hasn’t changed now. If anything, it’s only grown, now that Adams is set to take his place.”

Eliza shifted a little until she could more easily face him. It was an awkward position, but she didn’t mind the discomfort. She reached up to brush a stray lock of hair behind Alexander’s ear. “It had to happen sometime, Alexander,” she pointed out gently. “While the President is a strong man, he is now over sixty years old. He has earned his rest, and the country must learn to stand on its own two feet without him there to catch it if it should stumble.”[2]

Alexander nodded, leaning into the caress of her hand. “I know you are right,” he said, his expression still one of regret. “I just wish we had more time before he stepped away.” He closed his eyes wearily, murmuring, “Never enough time.”

Eliza leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. “Then make the best of what time there is, my darling,” she whispered just before she kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] This comes from Eliza’s own testimony later on in life when she was struggling to establish Alexander as the writer of Washington’s Farewell Address. She said that Alexander asked her to be to him what Moliere’s nurse was to him, namely, his sounding board. It sounds as though Alexander read parts out loud to her to see her reaction, and took advice from her on how to word things. Washington’s Farewell Address was considered an enormously important political document, and it has Eliza’s fingerprints on it every bit as much as Alexander’s (the writer) and Washington’s (the reader/person it’s named for). The document was held in enormous esteem long after everyone involved with it was gone. In the 1860s, it became a tradition for it to be read aloud every year in both houses of Congress. The House stopped doing so in the 1980s, but the Senate still continues to read it out loud every year.
> 
> [2] And indeed, Washington only had a few years left, dying of an infection in December 1799 that he might have beaten if antibiotics had been a thing at that time. But alas, no. And the descriptions of what the doctors did to him in an attempt to save him are pretty horrific. *shudder*
> 
> And yes, I did focus on the parts of Washington’s Farewell Address that are featured in the musical. So sue me. ;)


	24. Tipsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a large party at the Grange, Alexander is a bit tipsy. Eliza deals with that, while not being entirely sober herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 24\. **Tipsy**

Eliza sank onto the sofa and blearily took in her surroundings. The party had finally ended, with the last of the guests outside, readying to depart. Of course, there was still quite a bit to do. The parlor and the dining room both showed the night’s success. The door which connected the two rooms had been thrown open to make way for a larger table that would seat all of their guests, and it had been a merry meal for all. Most of the tableware had already been removed to the kitchen downstairs, leaving behind mainly flutes and glasses that had been used to imbibe the various spirts that had been on offer. There was quite a bit of work left to do to restore the Grange’s normal state of order.

Thankfully, it could all wait until after she had rested. Eliza didn’t consider herself drunk, but she could tell that she was still mildly intoxicated by the alcohol she had imbibed. There was no chance of her getting any meaningful work done until she had slept it off.

Movement caught Eliza’s eye and she turned her gaze toward the parlor door opposite her. Angelica had appeared there, and smiled at her as she crossed the room to sit down next to her. “Are they leaving?” Angelica asked her, slumping down on the sofa and running her fingers absently through her dark hair, which had recently been freed of its jewels and hairpins.

Eliza nodded thankfully. “Alexander and Church are seeing them off,” she said, letting her head fall back against the wall behind her. She truly wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and rest, but Eliza knew herself well enough to know that she’d fall right to sleep, and would regret it when she woke up. This sofa was not comfortable enough to get any meaningful rest on.

So instead, she forced her full attention on her sister. “Is everything all right in your room, dearest?” she asked Angelica. Of all their guests, only she and Church were staying overnight. “I can get you another quilt if you and Church need one?” The guest rooms could sometimes be a little drafty.

Angelica shook her head. “We’ll be fine,” she answered. Then she gave Eliza a naughty grin, adding, “Church gives off so much heat, he’ll keep me more than warm enough tonight.”

The giggle slipped out before Eliza could even think of stopping it. Angelica’s grin only widened at the response.

Before either could say anything more, loud, masculine laughter reached their ears, and only grew louder when the front door flew open, nearly slamming into the wall behind it.

“Give me a bowl, a mighty bowl, large as my capacious soul!” Two voices sang from the front hall in rather off-key tones. Eliza winced. Alexander must be quite intoxicated if he was singing that badly. As far as she knew, Church was never able to quite carry a tune, sober or drunk, but Alexander usually could sing very well when he was in control of himself.

“Oh good Lord,” Angelica groaned, rubbing at her temples. “It’s far too late for that.”

“Yes,” Eliza agreed as she struggled to get back on her feet. “Best stop them before they wake the children.” The last thing Eliza wanted was for her husband and brother-in-law to wake little Phil or Liza. They’d never get them back to sleep.

Angelica also stood and Eliza led the way out of the parlor and into the front hall. There in the front doorway stood Alexander and Church, the former with his arm swung companionably around the latter’s shoulders. “Vast as my thirst is, let it have depth enough to be my grave!” They continued to sing.[1]

Eliza stepped forward, and spoke quickly to keep them from singing any more of the song. “Yes, that’s lovely,” she said. “But the children are asleep, and I would appreciate them remaining so.”

Both men turned in her direction, and Alexander blinked rapidly, trying to focus his scattered attention. As he did so, he seemed to recognize her, and broke into a delighted smile. “My Betsey!” he said, clearly thrilled. Letting go of Church, who seemed to be more interested in Angelica, Alexander took a step toward Eliza, and then promptly began to lose his balance.

_Goodness, just how drunk is he?_ Eliza wondered as she hurried forward. Ducking under his arm, she wrapped an arm around him to keep him from falling to the floor. Alexander, however, took her actions as an invitation, and he threw both of his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

“Mmm,” he hummed, resting his cheek against the side of her head, “ _Ma Betsey, je t’aime tellement_.”[2]

Eliza heard Angelica snickering, and rolled her eyes. “I love you too, dear,” she replied. She attempted to step back, as Alexander seemed steady enough now for the moment, but found herself locked in place by her husband’s arms. Sighing, Eliza settled for turning her head in her sister’s direction. “Will you be all right?”

Angelica had also gone to her husband’s side with the intent of making sure he stayed mobile, and while he had wrapped his arm around her shoulders, Church had not pulled her into a hug. Angelica grinned and started nudging Church back the way she and Eliza had come earlier, intent on reaching their room at the back of the house. “We’ll be fine. Can you get him upstairs by yourself?”

“I think so,” Eliza said. “Goodnight, Angelica.”

Alexander also turned his head in Angelica’s direction. “Yes! Goodnight, Angelica! Goodnight, Church!” he said cheerily. 

Leaving her sister to her own work, Eliza returned her attention to Alexander. “Come, dearest. It’s time for bed,” she told him, and began to try to pry herself loose from his embrace. Her efforts, however, only made Alexander cling tighter to her.

“No,” he moaned, “don’t let go, my sweet, lovely Betsey!” He buried his face in her shoulder and held on.

Eliza stopped a moment. She had seen Alexander tipsy like this before, though it had been some time. Thinking, she said slowly, “Alexander, we are both tired. It’s time for bed.”

“Mm hmm,” he hummed in agreement.

She nodded. “But it’s very hard to go upstairs to bed when we’re like this.”

“Don’t wanna let go.”

“That’s all right,” she assured him, managing to pat his arm. “What if we held hands? We can do that and make it upstairs, can’t we?”

Alexander didn’t respond at first, clearly thinking about her suggestion. Finally, he carefully began to let his arms fall from their tight grip, though he was quick to take her hand, as though he was afraid she’d change her mind.

Eliza smiled at him and then began to lead him to the stairs, though not before taking a moment to close and lock the front door. They started up the steps, Eliza in the lead with Alexander continuing to hold onto her. As they made it up to the second floor, they carefully made their way down the hall to their bedchamber.

It took some doing, but once inside, Eliza managed to convince Alexander that he could let go of her hand while they dressed for bed, promising that she would not leave the room. Of course, actually managing the task of changing into their nightclothes was more onerous than normal, given how inebriated they were. They managed it, however, and once they were in bed, Alexander immediately moved close to her, cuddling up to her side and resting his head on her bosom. 

Eliza smiled down at him, watching Alexander’s eyes begin to drift closed. “Goodnight, my Alexander,” she whispered.

He snuggled even closer. “G’night, Betsey,” Alexander mumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] The 18th century drinking song [Fill Me a Bowl, a Mighty Bowl](https://www.americanrevolution.org/songs/songs-drinking/ds31.php).
> 
> [2] “My Betsey, I love you so much.” Thank you English-to-French Google translation!


	25. Dusty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza and the children return to Philadelphia and to Alexander after spending the summer in Albany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 25\. **Dusty**

Eliza did her best to stem the tide of her impatience as the carriage rolled through the dry, choked streets of Philadelphia. Traveling was not something she particularly enjoyed under any circumstance, and it was even less pleasant when it was done with several rambunctious, excited children all in a small, enclosed space. Still, what truly had her attention was her eagerness to view the new home Alexander had acquired for them. He’d had it ever since July, and had sworn to follow her instructions for its furnishing and decoration, and now she was keen to see the result.[1]

Market Street was in a fine neighborhood, and the house, according to Alexander, was only a short distance from the Presidential Mansion, another aspect of it which made Eliza happy. It would make it easier for her to make her calls upon Mrs. Washington, and to attend the levies and other social gatherings that were held there. Eliza’s social responsibilities while she was in Philadelphia were extensive, a result of being the wife of the Secretary of the Treasury, so anything that aided her in those duties was always welcome.

When the carriage finally came to an abrupt stop, the children began to shift and shuffle, all of them eagerly looking out the window at their destination. More sensibly, Eliza moved to exit the carriage first. As she pushed the door open, Mr. Meyer, the young employee of the Treasury that Alexander had sent to meet her and the children in Elizabethtown, appeared at the step, holding out his hand to assist her down. “Thank you, Mr. Meyer,” she said as she stepped out. 

“You’re most welcome, Mrs. Hamilton,” the young man said. Once she was safely on the ground, he turned back, ready to assist Angelica and Fanny, who had pushed ahead of the boys to be the first ones out of the carriage. 

Eliza walked around the carriage so she could gain an unobstructed view of the house. It was lovely, was her first thought as she took it in. Constructed with fine red brick, and dark wood trim surrounding the doors and window, there was also a lovely iron fence in front along the street, completed with a hitching post for visitors. She couldn’t help but smile, pleased. Alexander had indeed chosen well.

“Oooh, it’s so pretty, Mama!” Fanny exclaimed as the young girl appeared at her side. Eliza looked down at her foster daughter and smiled upon seeing the child nearly gaping at the house, her bright, dark eyes wide.

“Yes, it is very pretty,” Eliza agreed. “Now, let’s get inside and see what we have waiting for us.”

Fanny nodded and hurried toward the gate, Angelica and Philip both at her heels. Eliza herself turned to see Mr. Meyer leading both James and Alex toward her. Their eyes too were on the house, though they were quick to take Eliza’s hands when she reached out to them. Eliza thanked Mr. Meyer again for his assistance with the children, and then asked him if he might oversee their trunks being unloaded. The young man agreed and hurried off to the task, and Eliza looked down at her two younger sons. “Shall we go see the new home Papa has found for us?” she asked them.

Alex nodded eagerly and James, who, though clearly tired from the journey, perked up. “Papa!” he said.

Eliza laughed. “Yes,” she said, “Papa.”

But the boy clearly meant more than that. He tugged on her hand and pointed toward the house. “Papa!” he repeated.

Eliza followed the direction of his finger toward one of the large windows on the front of the house. She saw no one there, but the curtains were swaying in the open window, and there was no breeze. This was a bit surprising. Alexander had written to her of the yearly complaint he suffered in his kidneys – it was why he had not come to meet her and the children in Elizabethtown and sent Mr. Meyer in his stead [2] – but if he was well enough to be out of bed, then surely wouldn’t he have been at the Treasury offices? There was always so much to do there, and he could hardly be convinced to leave the work to his hirelings there, always insisting that his oversight was needed.

She led the two boys toward the gate, following in the older children’s footsteps. As Eliza stepped through, the front door opened and out swept Alexander, full of verve as he hurried down the steps to meet them. “Here is my family!” he cried as he held his arms wide, inviting them to come to him. “I thought you’d forgotten all about me!”

All five of the children shrieked in delight and threw themselves at him, little Alex and James dropping Eliza’s hands in the process. Eliza laughed and followed, intending to get a closer look at her husband to ascertain the state of his health for herself. 

He looked surprisingly healthy, she quickly saw as the children began to all but climb all over him. While his letter had assured her that the attack of his kidney complaint was a mild one, she knew from experience how even the most minor of attacks could often lay him out and exhaust him. But there was little sign of that at all, if his boundless energy as he swept the children up in hugs and tickling was anything to go by.

It was then that Alexander straightened again, and his attention landed on her. “Ah,” he said, his tone softening, “my dearest, loveliest, most wonderful Betsey.”

The children seemed to sense that they should make way for them, because they stepped aside, leaving Alexander and her a clear path to one another, one they took full advantage of. They met each other in a fierce embrace, and Eliza reveled in feeling her husband’s arms around her for the first time in months. All of the stresses she had been living under – the terror over James’ health when he had been sick, the constant worry for Alexander when he did not appear to be writing to her for weeks on end – began to melt away as Alexander tried to cover her entire face in kisses. “Oh, how I have missed you,” he murmured between each kiss.

Soon enough, Alexander pulled away just enough to gesture for the children to go inside, and then he accompanied Eliza arm-in-arm in bringing up the rear. As they stepped into the front hall, Eliza looked around. The house was a great deal larger than the previous home they had rented here in Philadelphia, which pleased her. The room to the immediate right of the front door had clearly been marked out as Alexander’s study – she could see his desk just through the door, covered in various papers, as always. 

“Can we see our rooms, Mama?” Philip asked eagerly. Eliza turned her gaze on her eldest and saw him fidgeting near the staircase, clearly eager to run up and explore the second floor. 

She smiled, and nodded, saying, “Go on, but be prepared to unpack. There’s much to do before supper.”

That was all Philip needed for him to take the stairs at a run. Alexander and James hurried after him, struggling to keep up on their shorter legs. Angelica and Fanny latched onto Alexander, tugging at him. “Come with us, Papa!” Angelica implored. “I want you to show us our room!”

Alexander gave Eliza a sheepish smile, to which she laughed softly and waved her hand, encouraging him to go along with their girls. As the three of them followed the boys, Eliza continued her initial survey of the ground floor. The house had been kitted out very well, she saw. The furniture, a mix of their own pieces and those owned by Mr. Stein, the man whom they were renting the house from.[3] He seemed to have excellent tastes, she noted with some pleasure.

The same, however, could not be said for Alexander’s housekeeping, Eliza thought as she looked closer. Running a single, gloved finger along a hall table, she looked at her fingertip and wrinkled her nose at the dust and stray hair. Clearly, he had not yet set out to hire new servants. She would have to see to that herself, and ensure the house was given a thorough cleaning before she began to entertain guests.

The quick tour of the rest of the ground floor confirmed what she had seen from the start. The kitchen at the back of the house was perhaps in the room that was in the best shape of all of them, save for a few breadcrumbs on the counter. Alexander knew to keep the kitchen clean, if only to prevent a rodent infestation.

There was no second staircase for the use of servants, so Eliza backtracked to the front of the house. The front door was open and their various traveling trunks were being stacked inside, waiting for a final destination. She did not see Mr. Meyer anywhere, and assumed he was either still outside or had already left the premises to return to his own home. She turned to the staircase and began making her way upstairs. She could hear the laughing voices of her children, and smiled. They seemed happy with what they had found up here.

When she reached the landing, Eliza peered in the first doorway on her left. The chamber was a bright, airy room with a large canopied bed dominating the space. Angelica and Fanny lay stretched out across the mattress, still in their traveling dresses, giggling conspiratorially together. Smiling, she left them to it. 

There were four bedchambers altogether, from what Eliza could see. Glancing in one, she saw Philip speaking excitedly to his father, telling him about a fishing trip he had gone on with his grandfather. In another, James and Alex were curled up on the bed, fast asleep. _That didn’t take long_ , she thought fondly.

Though she did not inspect the rooms closely, Eliza could still see that they were in much the same state as the ground floor – all in need of a good dusting at the very least. As she came to the final bedchamber, what must be hers and Alexander’s, Eliza stepped inside expecting it to be in much the same condition. 

The chamber was the largest of the four. Their bed, the frame being an enormous thing that had been one of their first important purchases after Alexander had established his law practice, was in place and as welcome a sight as ever. The room also had a decent-sized fireplace, near which a large upholstered chair had been placed. Eliza smiled as she gazed upon it, imagining herself seated there by a crackling fire, working on her mending or some piece of embroidery. Just from a quick look, everything appeared perfect.

Wait. She stopped. Perfect? She surveyed the room again, looking at things in further detail.

This chamber, unlike the rest of the house, was spotless, she realized. The furniture gleamed. The rugs under her feet looked to have been just recently beaten. Eliza took off her gloves and ran a hand over the counterpane on the bed. The linens were freshly laundered too.

The chamber had been cleaned from top to bottom. There was not a speck of dust, not a single stray hair to be found. 

“Is everything to your satisfaction, my love?”

Eliza spun around to find Alexander standing in the doorway, a soft smile on his lips. Instinctively, her lips turned upward to return the gesture. “Nearly so,” she told him as he walked into the room, crossing the distance between them to take her into his arms once again. 

“Oh?” he cocked his head. “And just what has been found wanting? Where have I failed to follow my darling’s instructions?” he asked her with a teasing grin.

Eliza couldn’t keep herself from laughing at her husband’s antics and she cuddled closer, resting her head on his chest. She had missed him so, missed everything about him. His arms came up behind her, holding her against him and she sighed contentedly. “Other than being in sore need of a good cleaning, there nothing wrong,” she said. Then she paused, considered again the state of their bedchamber and its marked difference to the rest of the house. “It’s instead something that puzzles me.”

“Oh?”

She pulled back from him a little so she could meet his gaze. Raising an eyebrow, she nodded toward the chamber around them. “Why is our chamber so clean in comparison to everywhere else?” Eliza grinned at him. “Have you been up to something naughty in here? Something I should know about?”

She had only been teasing him, of course, and Alexander’s smile didn’t falter. Still, there was something in his eyes, his manner, which reminded her suddenly of a deer, frozen in fear when it spotted a hunter about to take his shot. The moment of silence was oddly tense, though for what reason she truly could not fathom. So, Eliza chose to break it by asking in her sternest tone, the one that set their children to standing at attention like soldiers, “Alexander Hamilton, have you been eating food in here?”

He didn’t respond at first, just stared at her before blinking rapidly as her words finally sank in. “Eating?” He almost stuttered as he said the word.

Eliza stepped back, and his arms fell limply to his sides. Placing her hands on her hips, she demanded with mock-severity, “What have I said about bringing food into the bed?”

He blinked again, and slowly seemed to be returning to himself. “That it will get crumbs everywhere, and invite vermin to invade the house,” he recited. 

She nodded. “Exactly.” Waving her hand to indicate the spotless chamber, she asked, “Is that why this room has been cleaned to the point where I can almost see my reflection in the wood? Were you trying to remove the evidence of your crime?”

The last of the tension held on for another moment, until Eliza could not take it and Alexander’s almost-punch-drunk expression anymore. She burst out laughing. 

His vacant stare began to morph into an incredulous gape, which only caused Eliza to laugh harder. Leaning against the bedpost, she said between bouts of laughter, “Oh, Alexander… you should… see your face!”

A faint, sheepish smile began to creep across Alexander’s lips and he too began to chuckle. “It seems you’ve caught me, dearest,” he said, his voice sounding strangely _relieved_ , of all things. “I can hide nothing from you.”

It took some time for Eliza to regain control of her mirth. As she regained her feet, she took his arm in her arm and squeezed it lovingly. Nudging his shoulder with affection, she said as she began to lead him out of the room. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m home now. I’ll break you of this unsavory habit soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, Eliza… she doesn’t know. Not yet. *whimper*
> 
> Damn it, Ham.
> 
> [1] [Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Hamilton, 27 July 1791](https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-08-02-0524).
> 
> [2] [Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Hamilton, 4 September 1791](https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-09-02-0127).
> 
> [3] [Clement Biddle to Alexander Hamilton, 28 June 1791](https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-08-02-0449).


	26. Offend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza and Liza have a talk after a difficult visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 26\. **~~Farm~~ Offend**
> 
> A good deal of this is inspired by Stephanie Dray and Laura Kamoie’s version of events in their novel, _My Dear Hamilton_. I added some of my own thoughts and twists to it, but their version lays at its heart. All credit to them.

Eliza stood at the parlor window, her back straight as a board, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. This set of windows had a good view of the road leading away from the Grange, which provided her with an excellent view of the comings and goings of travelers as they sped by, on their way to Albany or New York, depending on their direction. The view it gave her at this particular moment was even more agreeable, however, as it allowed her to watch the gig[1] carrying James Monroe drive away from the house.

_Good riddance_ , she thought with a measure of grim satisfaction. The Virginian had come here hoping that time had softened her, had made her amenable to accepting some well-turned little speech that he’d obviously planned out in his mind beforehand.[2] Well, he’d now learned otherwise.

“Mama?”

Eliza slowly turned from the window. Standing just inside the parlor door was her dear Liza, with good Mr. Holly and Eliza’s fifteen-year-old nephew, Alexander Malcolm. All three were staring at her, their eyes wide and full of shock, which was more than enough to tell her that they had all heard most, if not all, of her interview with the former President.

Eliza met their gazes head on, refusing to be cowed or chagrined by her behavior. Her words and actions toward Mr. Monroe might not have been within the bounds of societal convention – all right, they most _certainly_ weren’t – but they were only the minimum of what he deserved from her. “Yes, dearest?” she asked her daughter.

Liza didn’t say anything else, clearly startled by her mother’s nonchalant attitude. Mr. Holly also seemed to have been astonished into silence. Young Alexander, however, managed to find his tongue. 

“My goodness, Aunt!” he exclaimed, shocked enthusiasm filling his voice, “I did not expect to see or hear anything like this when I came to visit! You dressing down a former President of the United States like he was an errant schoolboy!” He glanced at his cousin and asked, “Does this sort of thing happen often, Cousin Liza? Perhaps I should come ‘round more often!”

Eliza saw her daughter and son-in-law exchange a meaningful look and, for a moment, a wave of sadness splashed over her. She had once had someone to exchange such glances with, but not for a long, long time now. She shook her head and held her chin high. Now was not the time for grief.

Off the look from his wife, Mr. Holly dropped a hand on young Alexander’s shoulder and said, “Come, cousin, let me show you the new fishing rods I purchased. I think you’ll enjoy them.” Without waiting for a response, he guided the boy out of the parlor and out the front door, leaving Eliza alone with her daughter.

Eliza turned from Liza’s gaze, intending to settle herself in a chair near the fireplace. Spring had come, but it was still quite chilly, and a fire was still necessary to keep the house warm. With a sigh, she sank into the seat, and waited for Liza to speak. Her daughter was by nature outspoken, a trait she came by honestly. How could she not be, with two such parents? Liza would have her say, no matter what.

She did not speak immediately, however. Instead, Liza crossed the room and took a seat in the other chair just across from the one Eliza had seated herself in. That chair had been Alexander’s once, Eliza thought wistfully. They’d sometimes sit together here in the parlor, late into the evening after the children had gone to bed, and just enjoy the silence and warmth of one another’s company. 

She and Alexander had hoped to have many years to do such things, but that wretch, Burr, had had other plans. And so Eliza, more often than not, was left to sit by the fire in the Grange alone. Only rarely did any of her family or other visitors dare to sit in that chair.

“Was that wise, Mama?” Liza asked her, her tone soft. Her dark eyes, mirrors to Eliza’s own, were steady and thoughtful. “Mr. Monroe might no longer be President, but he likely still has influence. Given the positions some of your sons hold, surely it was ill-advised to offend him like that?”

A snort escaped Eliza before she could stop it. “He’ll do nothing to your brothers, you may rest easy on that score,” Eliza told her. “These Virginians pride themselves on their honor, and your brothers have nothing to do with why that man came here today. And besides,” she added in a colder tone, “he offended me first. Perhaps it is childish, but there it is.”

Liza stared at her. “He came here seeking a rapprochement with you, Mama. Is that so very bad?”

Eliza could feel the fire, the rage, rising in her, but she kept it contained. Liza did not deserve her fury. She shook her head. “He could claim he sought peace all he wanted, but what he really wanted was forgiveness. He wanted me to forgive him for making a mockery of my private pain, for humiliating me before all the world in his efforts to wage war on your father.”

Liza blinked, and confusion was soon writ all over her expression. Eliza sighed. “I suppose I never did tell you everything,” she admitted. Only once had she ever spoken to her daughter of that cursed pamphlet and of Alexander’s infidelity. It had not been a conversation that Eliza had relished, and so had kept it short and to the point. She suspected that her sons had likely told their sister more, but she did not know for certain. Even if they did, _they_ did not know all of it.

“When government officials came to investigate your father for improper speculation, your father revealed the truth of the matter to them – that he was paying off the husband of his mistress." Liza winced at the harsh phrasing, but didn’t interrupt. Eliza, long used to the tale, kept speaking without pause. "He exhorted them to keep quiet about this, as his private failings had no bearing on his public integrity. To this, they agreed, for they all knew that there was no improper conduct in the course of your father’s duties as President Washington’s Treasury Secretary.” That there was more than enough to say about his improper conduct as a private man went unsaid. “Your father also entrusted the proof of all of this to them, but he requested copies.”

Liza shook her head, a pained expression on her face. “Mama, what does this have to do with President Monroe?”

Eliza gave her a chiding look for her impatience. “Everything, dear. Mr. Monroe was the leader of that little delegation of investigators. It was to him that your father gave the papers – Maria Reynolds’ letters, James Reynolds’ blackmail, the record of the payments, all of it. When your father requested copies, he assumed that Mr. Monroe would make the copies himself, in keeping with his promise to keep the knowledge of it as contained as possible.” She could not help the sneer crossing her face. “But Mr. Monroe decided that this was not worth a hand cramp, and so entrusted the task to a clerk within the House of Representatives. Mr. Monroe later claimed that this clerk made copies for himself as well.” She shook her head. “In any case, Mr. Monroe decided that he would ‘entrust’ the papers to a ‘trusted friend in Virginia’, who would theoretically keep them under lock and key, particularly when Mr. Monroe was out of the country.”

Her daughter was not a fool. She stiffened, catching on very quickly. “President Jefferson.”

Eliza nodded, her fingers gripping the armrest in a vicelike grip. “’Tis like trusting a fox to behave himself in a henhouse. Later, when it proved most advantageous to them, the papers were given to a vile newspaperman, who did not hesitate to print them and use them against your father. Of course, the focus of that odious man’s accusations was, again, in leveling the charge of speculation. Your father’s response was to call upon the three men who had cleared him of that charge, asking them to reiterate that they had been satisfied in their investigation. Two of them agreed without hesitation, but the third…” she trailed off. The memory still hurt, even now.

“Mr. Monroe would not,” Liza finished for her, her voice soft. 

“No, he wouldn’t,” Eliza confirmed, the bitterness settling in the back of her throat like bile, burning. “He declared that him getting involved would only cause more chaos than there already was.” She sniffed. “He was already involved, as he was the one who handed the papers off to the very man who saw to their release into the public consciousness. But the fact that he himself had not done so was enough for Mr. Monroe to split hairs and to claim and declare that _he_ was not in any way responsible, and that your father should just leave it be.” Of course, Alexander could not leave anything be. That was not his way. He had to meet every accusation, every attack, head on.

“So Papa wrote that pamphlet.”

“Yes.” One terrible word, one terrible truth. “James Monroe knew your father very well, despite them being political opponents. He knew Alexander would react to preserve his political reputation, for the sake of the country’s existence. If the public believed that the founder of the country’s credit, its wealth and prestige, was corrupt, it would shake apart for good. He knew Alexander would fall on his sword, would admit his private sins for the sake of the public’s greater good – and that’s exactly what he and his _friends_ wanted. Alexander Hamilton would preserve the nation from the crisis they had invoked, but at the cost of all his credibility. He would cease to be a threat to their ambitions.” And that was what had happened. Alexander’s reputation suffered for his confessions, and only once after that did he wield any real semblance of power – when he stood at the head of the army he had begun to build, and that had been ripped away when Mr. Adams made peace with France and declared that the United States needed no army. The fool.

“But in getting what he wanted, Mr. Monroe had sullied his honor,” Eliza continued resentfully. “He knew it. I knew it. And Virginians are very prickly about their honor. He had sworn to not reveal those documents to anyone, which Alexander asked him to do for my sake and that of our family. But he broke that promise, and opened the door for his own allies to attack me, someone he considered an innocent party.” Some of those infernal newspaper headlines still stung.

“That is what he wanted, Liza,” she said. “James Monroe wanted me to clear the mud off his honor. His health is in serious decline. His wife has passed, and he’s not long in following her, I think. He wants to die with his conscience clear, and that I will not give him. I will not forgive the man. Not because he humiliated me, mind you. But because he and his _friends_ , most specifically that reptile now mouldering in his grave at Monticello, set out to destroy your father, a man they viewed as unworthy of anything he touched because he was not like them, not born here, not born to inherit some Godforsaken speck of land. Your father _earned_ all he gained, and that they could not abide.”

Liza leaned back in the chair. “And I thought all men were created equal here,” she murmured.

Eliza snorted again. She seemed to be doing that quite often these days. Her mother would be appalled. “Oh no,” she said, “They talk prettily, but in the minds of many people, there is still a hierarchy, where people ought to ‘know their place.’” She paused, her eyes turning from Eliza to the fire. She stared into the flames, could feel its heat seeping under her dress to her feet. “Your papa was a good man, if a very flawed one. He believed in the promise that this country holds, and in those very words Mr. Jefferson put to paper. Whatever his shortcomings, of which he would have been the first to admit that he had many, he did not deserve the slander they threw upon him.” She looked up again. “So no, I will most emphatically _not_ pat James Monroe on the head and tell him all is well and forgiven. Not when he showed himself as having no remorse for his actions.

“Perhaps that makes me self-righteous,” Eliza admitted. “Perhaps the good Lord will frown upon my unkindness. But I am no saint, no angel. There are limits to what I can give, my dear, and we just found what those limits are. Justice shall be done to the memory of my dear Hamilton, and that justice will not come in coddling the men who sought to erase every trace of him.”[3]

Liza nodded, and they both fell into silence. They sat together for some time, until Mr. Holly and young Alexander finally returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] According to this [glossary](http://www.arnkarnk.plus.com/glossary.htm) of different types of carriages, a gig was a “light two-wheeled, one-horsed vehicle for two people. Used by commuters, it was the most common vehicle on the road.”
> 
> [2] The phrase “well-turned little speech” comes from a [deleted scene](https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/hamilton-widow-speaks/) from PBS’ documentary, _Alexander Hamilton_ , which shows some of Eliza’s life after Hamilton’s death, including Monroe’s visit to her. I love this scene so much, particularly because the actress who portrays Eliza absolutely _nails_ how I view Eliza’s outspoken side. 
> 
> [3] “Justice shall be done to the memory of my dear Hamilton.” Those words seem to engulf Eliza’s life in her later years, as she worked to organize Alexander’s writings and to see to it that a biography was written to cement his place in the Pantheon of the early Republic. Those words also seem to have had an impact on Liza as well, for she later [wrote](https://hamiltonschuylercollection.tumblr.com/post/147123147122/eliza-hamilton-holly-to-john-church-hamilton-1855) to her brother, John Church Hamilton, scolding him for taking so long to write their father’s biography, so long that Eliza herself had not lived to see it, and she also uses that phrase when she quotes their mother.


	27. Languages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander pays a call on Eliza in Morristown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 27\. **Languages**

Alexander trooped along the path toward Dr. Campfield’s house, just as he did nearly every day now. Though there still remained a great deal of snow on the ground, the path he walked was clear and well-trodden and, thankfully, not a complete pit of mud and slush. It was still cold, but the bitterness had begun to fade. It made him hopeful that spring was at last beginning to arrive.

As he approached the neat white house where Dr. and Mrs. Cochran had taken up residence for the winter, and had later been joined by their delightful niece, he glanced toward one of the front windows which looked in on the front parlor. The lace curtains obstructed the view, of course, but Alexander fancied he could catch faint movement behind them. His heart leapt. His dear Betsey was no doubt inside.

He was let into the house by a servant, who took his coat for him and gestured him toward the parlor door. As Alexander approached, he heard the delightful sound of feminine laughter, and then two women falling into conversation that, at first, sounded unusual to Alexander’s ears. It wasn’t until he stood in the doorway and their words became clearer that he understood what was hearing. 

Mrs. Cochran and Eliza were speaking Dutch, if he was not mistaken, and with all the fluency of native speakers. Which wasn’t surprising, really, if he thought about it. The Schuylers were among the descendants of the early Dutch settlers in and around Albany and New York, back before the land came into the hands of the British. The old families there held their heritage close.

His appearance must have caught their attention, because Mrs. Cochran, who sat on the sofa facing him, stopped speaking and beamed when she saw him. Eliza was sitting next to her aunt on the sofa, but had her back to the door. She turned to look over her shoulder to see what had made her aunt halt in mid-sentence, and her eyes immediately lit up. “Alexander!” she said, thrilled with his appearance. “We did not expect you until supper!”

He strode further into the room, bowing courteously first to Mrs. Cochran and then turning his full attention to Eliza, who had risen to meet him. She approached him faster than would be considered proper in most circles, but Alexander hardly cared. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips and pressed a reverent kiss to her knuckles. “My dear Betsey,” he murmured against her skin.

Mrs. Cochran rose too at that moment, giving them a genuine, indulgent smile. “I’ll go see about getting something warm to drink,” she told them before slipping past them and out of the room, though the door was pointedly left open. Technically, it was tea time, Alexander supposed, though he knew as well as anyone that there was no tea to be found for miles. Still, he did not doubt Mrs. Cochran’s resourcefulness. She would bring something for them.

Eliza wound her arm in his and led him to the sofa she and her aunt had just vacated. “How are you, my Alexander?” she asked as they settled themselves.

“Well enough,” he replied. “There appears to be an actual lull in the copious amount of letters that the General must send, and so I was excused early. They will send someone if I am needed, though I don’t expect that will happen.”

She nodded. “We received a letter from my sister, Mrs. Carter. She’ll be joining us here within the next week, along with her two children.” Eliza smiled, her happiness apparent over the impending arrival of a dearly beloved sister.

Alexander expressed his own pleasure at the news, but then turned the conversation back to what he had noticed upon his arrival. “Were you and Mrs. Cochran speaking Dutch when I came in?”

Eliza blinked at the change of subject, but nodded. “Oh, yes. Why?”

He shrugged, brushing his fingers along the back of her hand fondly. “No reason. I was exposed to many different languages in my youth,” he told her, “and I became fluent in several of them. Though,” Alexander admitted, “I am a bit rusty in some of them, such as Dutch.” He smiled somewhat self-deprecatingly at her. “General Washington has a great need for my skills in French more than any other. Even as the Marquis’ English improves, he still has a tendency to fall back into his native tongue when he becomes excited over one topic or another. Which is often.” He laughed, recalling his friend’s natural high spirits. 

Eliza also chuckled, and Alexander recalled that she too had met the Marquis de Lafayette in the past, and was thus quite familiar with his natural exuberance.[1] “I first learned Dutch as a child,” she said. “My parents spoke it at home more than anything else, particularly when we were just among the family. I suppose English would be my second language, with French being my third.” 

She paused, and her expression seemed to grow slightly pensive. Alexander was about to ask her what troubled her, but then Eliza forged ahead of her own volition. “With French, I can speak and follow it well enough when spoken by others, but my talent for reading and writing it leaves much to be desired. Angelica always performed better than I did in such things.” A faint blush spread across her cheeks, and she looked down at their joined hands, avoiding his direct gaze.

She was embarrassed, Alexander realized with some astonishment. His Betsey was actually ashamed that she had difficulty with learning another language. And she had mentioned that her older sister was quite fluent? Perhaps some indication of sibling rivalry or jealousy? Alexander himself only had limited experience with that, due to he and his brother being so often separated, even as boys. They were never truly around one another enough to grow jealous of each other’s talents. 

_It won’t do_ , he thought with sudden fervor. He would not have his dear, wonderful Eliza look down upon herself or think herself in any way inferior to anyone or anything. While he was certain that Mrs. Carter was a wonderful woman, he did not care if she was a genius on par with Hypatia of Alexandria. Alexander refused to countenance Eliza blushing over the idea that she was somehow wanting in comparison to her sister, or to anyone. 

He opened his mouth to say as much, but then stopped, still thinking furiously. There was an idea forming in his mind, but he did not want Eliza to think he pitied her. His future bride was perhaps the most modest soul he had ever met, but Alexander knew that she still had her pride, and woe betide anyone who managed to offend it. 

After several moments, he squeezed her hands. “I have a proposition for you, my love,” he told her.

Eliza looked up at him. “Oh? What would that be?” she asked.

Alexander let go of one her hands to run his hand over the back of his head. “I propose a trade,” he said. “If you will allow me to practice and improve my Dutch with you, I will aid you in improving your reading and writing of French.”

Eliza’s dark eyes widened, surprised by the offer. “Truly? But why?” she inquired. “You said that the General requires your fluency in French more than any other language. What need do you have of Dutch?”

He smiled at her, letting his hand fall back atop the one he had previously let go. Taking it in his, he held both of her hands up between his and replied, “We will not always be at war, my Betsey. The former colonies, especially New York, are a port of call for many, some who seek a better life than the one they left behind, or even just as a stopping point on the way to somewhere else. There are multiple languages that are spoken in these lands besides the King’s – besides English. I mean to have at least some familiarity with as many as I can. You could assist me with that with your fluency in Dutch, and I can return the favor by aiding you in improving your French, as it a language that people should certainly know. I am aware of several books that might help you that you could seek out from your father or purchase if you so wish.”

Eliza gazed at him, her eyes still wide with shocked amazement. Just when Alexander thought he may have been too hasty in his offer, that he might have offended her after all, she broke into a wide smile. “You are such a dear,” she said, shaking her head. “I accept your offer,” she then said, and her grin took on a teasing quality, adding, “But I must warn you, sir, I can be very hard to keep up with in my native tongue. I hope you are up to the challenge.”

Alexander laughed and said, “I shall endeavor not to disappoint my teacher, then.” Impulsively, he leaned in and kissed her. He’d intended it only to be a peck, a playful gesture. The moment their lips connected, however, it was as though they were both struck by lightning. The desire that rose up in him was like nothing Alexander had ever felt before. He was not a virgin by any means, but the sudden, desperate yearning for this woman on the sofa with him put his previous conquests – not that there had been that many, anyway – quite in the shade. 

And if Eliza’s own enthusiastic participation in their abrupt embrace was any indication, she too was every bit as overwhelmed as he was. 

Within the space of moments, they had closed the polite gap that even engaged couples kept out of modesty and were completely ensconced in each other’s arms. Alexander marveled over just how _good_ it felt to have Betsey like this, in his arms, kissing him, _loving_ him. How it made him want _more_. He nudged even closer, encouraging her to lean further back on the sofa, and he grabbed one of her hands in his, lacing their fingers together…

The sound of someone clearing their throat pointedly reached both their ears, but took a moment for it to sink in. When it did, both he and Eliza reared back in their haste to separate. They both turned toward the door, their guilt apparent in their flushed faces, in their swollen lips, in their heavy breathing.

Mrs. Cochran stood in the doorway, a tea tray held before her. The older woman stared at them both, a single eyebrow raised pointedly. “Really, dears,” she said, her tone laced with disappointment as she swept into the room, placing the tray down on a table by the window.

Alexander opened his mouth, ready to offer his profuse apologies, to her _and_ to Eliza, for allowing his passions to get the better of him, when Mrs. Cochran turned back to them, this time with a wicked sparkle in her eye. Before he could utter a word, she continued, “If you are going to play those types of games, the parlor is not the place for them, where anyone can walk in.” Her gaze shifted to Eliza. “Truly, dear, have you forgotten the stories I told you about your own parents?”[2]

Alexander blinked, confused, and turned toward Eliza, only to find her blushing even more fiercely than before. “No, Aunt,” she murmured, ducking her head and glancing in Alexander’s direction. “I didn’t forget.”

_What was that all about?_ Alexander wondered. He didn’t get a chance to ask, however, as Mrs. Cochran kept close after that, never permitting him and Eliza another moment to be by themselves. She did not scold them further for their behavior, though, nor did she ever seem to inform Dr. Cochran, much to Alexander’s relief. 

In the years to come, though, she would tease him and Eliza both about that day, speaking fondly of young love and how it could grow and mature into the stoutest of bonds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] I don’t know for certain if Eliza and Lafayette met before 1780, but Stephanie Dray and Laura Kamoie created a very plausible scenario for their first meeting in the early pages of their novel, _My Dear Hamilton_ , so I went with the idea that she had her own acquaintance with him. 
> 
> [2] An allusion to the fact that Catharine Van Rensselaer was actually some months pregnant with Angelica when she and Philip Schuyler married. No one in this family was foolish, so I can just imagine that Catharine and Philip endured all sorts of familial teasing about that over the years, and the kids would have picked up on it and/or were told stories about it. The whole ‘no sex before marriage’ concept didn’t truly become a huge Thing until a few generations later (thank the Victorians). At this time, I’ve read that at least a third of women were already pregnant when they married, which says that people were not as prim and proper as people think them to be. And culturally among Eliza’s people, it seems that it was the engagement that was the most important thing, not necessarily the marriage ceremony. So if Eliza and Alexander were to have some fun together pre-December 1780, well, so long as the engagement remained intact and Alexander didn’t try to run from it, then no one was going to scold them too much. 
> 
> This ficlet was partially inspired by a [letter Alexander wrote to Eliza](https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-02-02-0747), dated July 2-4, 1780, where he reminds her “not to neglect the charges I gave you particularly that of taking care of your self, and that of employing all your leisure in reading.” I’ve read several different accounts – fanfiction, pro fiction, and nonfiction alike – interpreting Eliza’s reaction to this letter as one of hurt feelings, that Alexander was thoughtlessly implying that she was somehow not good or smart enough or something like that. I wanted to do a different take on it, and came up with this. Eliza’s first language was likely Dutch, and was said to have continued her fluency in it into adulthood, but seemed to have trouble with French. Alexander was fluent in French – it was one reason he was so valuable to Washington during the Revolution – and likely knew Dutch very well from his early years in the West Indies. And I wanted him to actually think a little before offering to help Eliza with her French, and not have him hurt her feelings in making the suggestion.  
> So I expected this to be just a cute little moment where the two discuss languages, but then they pretty much hijacked my brain and insisted on supplying several paragraphs of them making out like two horny twenty-something-year-olds. Because that is what they _were_ at this point in their lives. And in doing so they introduced a third language into the moment – the language of love. ;)


	28. Piano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander plots a surprise for Eliza. He even has coconspirators.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 28\. **~~Stars~~ Piano**

The music filled the room with such richness and zeal, they could have been sitting in a grand theatre instead of just their small parlor. The musician’s hands danced over the keys, light as air. The music was laid out before her, with her brother dutifully turning the pages for her, but Alexander knew that she had no need of them. This was a piece that she knew by heart. 

Alexander closed his own eyes, letting the music wash over him and sooth his many cares and stresses away. There were really only two ways for him to do that. The first was this, listening to his dearest little Angelica – who, at fifteen, reminded him often that she was not so little anymore – play with all the grace of an angel. Her piano was among her greatest joys, and had been since the day it had arrived, a gift from her aunt and namesake sent all the way from London. 

The second, of course, was to lay quietly with his Eliza, his head upon her bosom as she ran her fingers through his hair and over his temples. The mere thought of that brought a smile to his lips.

When the song at last came to an end, the final note fading out into silence, Alexander opened his eyes and brought his hands up to applaud. “Brava,” he said with genuine enthusiasm. “That was absolutely beautiful, my darling girl.”

Angelica turned from the piano, a bright, winsome grin on her face. “Thank you, Papa!” she replied. “I heard from Mr. Amadeus that he is expecting a new shipment of music in one of his next shipments from Venice…” She trailed off, her expression perfectly calm, as though she had just imparted some interesting tidbit of news.

Alexander met Philip’s expressive gaze over Angelica’s shoulder, and his eldest son broke into a knowing grin, unable to hide his amusement. Alexander kept his face straight, hiding his own merriment. Philip would never be a good card player. He was never one to hide his feelings or thoughts. 

“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “Well, I’m sure that is a great comfort to Mr. Amadeus. Did you not say he was most distraught that his supply of sheet music was woefully low, and he feared running out completely before winter?”

Angelica’s expression did not waver, and Alexander did not look away, though inwardly he laughed. Playing this game was rather fun, trying not to be the first one to break.

The silence stretched on for several long moments, until finally it was Philip who broke it. “Oh for goodness sake, Papa! She wants some pocket money so she can be first in line to dig through the new sheet music when it arrives!” He then turned his gaze toward Angelica, who had turned in her seat to face him, and demanded, “Was all of that really necessary? You could have just asked him!”

Angelica’s back was now to Alexander, but he could well guess that she was rolling her eyes at Philip’s impatience. He also gave his son a chiding look. If Philip hoped to make a living as a lawyer and a man of government, he would have to learn when to hold himself still, when to have patience. Goodness knows, it was a hard lesson Alexander had had to learn himself, but surely he had never been so impatient as his firstborn?

Anything else that might have been said was forgotten when the front door of the house swept open and loud, laughing voices spilled into the front hall. He turned to look through to the front hall and saw the rest of his children tumble through the front door. James and Johnny had their arms full of parcels, and were clearly eager to relieve themselves of their burden. Alex was also carrying a few packages, in addition to having William riding on his back. Eliza was the last one to enter the house, her reticule in one hand and little Liza held securely in her other arm. 

“Take them into the kitchen and lay them on the table for Mrs. Georges,” Eliza was telling their sons. “And do so neatly!” she added as they began to move toward the kitchen at the back of the house. “I do not want to hear of anything dropping or being broken this time!”

As Eliza dropped her reticule on a nearby hall table and began the struggle of removing her coat without overly disturbing their youngest, an idea began to grow in Alexander’s mind. A grin spread across his face, and he turned to Angelica. “I shall make a deal with you, my dear,” he told her. “You may have your pocket money in advance, but only if you and Philip do something for me.”

She cocked her head, eyeing him curiously. “What is that?” At the same time, Philip threw his hands up, asking, “Why am I getting roped into this?” A raised eyebrow from both Angelica and Alexander himself made him surrender and go quiet. 

What he wanted was simple enough, hardly any kind of real challenge, and so she accepted when he hurriedly explained. Philip, resigned to his own involvement, uttered no further reluctance on his part. That settled, Alexander stood up from his chair and left the parlor. Eliza was still struggling with her coat, as Liza was not in mood that was agreeable to cooperating with her mother. She clung to her with all the stubbornness a Hamilton and a Schuyler could exhibit. 

_And so young too!_ Alexander thought. Chuckling, he came closer and asked, “What is this, my darling? A rather large burr seems to have stuck itself to you.”

Eliza gave him a look mixed with exasperation and resignation. Leaning forward, he lightly tapped the toddler on the nose. “Hello there, poppet,” he said, and then held out his hands to her invitingly. “Come to Papa?”

Liza, just over a year old, eyed him with her mother’s dark eyes, a suspicious glint in them, and kept her firm grip upon her mother. Alexander bit back a laugh. “Come on,” he coaxed, “Papa has missed his little Betsey.”

The little girl waited several more beats before she finally deigned to permit herself to be passed from one parent to the other. _All the imperiousness of a queen, this one,_ Alexander thought, no longer bothering to hide his smile. He held her close, covering her face in playful, sloppy kisses, which made her lapse into delighted giggles. 

Freed of her youngest child’s clingy hands, Eliza at last removed her coat and hung it beside the door. Running her hands along her hair to swipe back a few stray strands, Eliza asked, “I assume supper is on schedule?”

Alexander nodded. “Mrs. Georges has everything in hand.” Just then the sound of footsteps alerted him to the return of their sons. “And it sounds as though she has already banished everyone and their greedy fingers from her domain.”

The boys then reappeared, most with sulky or disappointed expressions. Clearly, Mrs. Georges had not been inclined to indulge them with sweets so close to their meal.

Eliza soon gave everyone their marching orders to go and wash up for supper. As Philip and Angelica came out of the parlor, Philip gave his father a mischievous grin and a wink while Angelica looked positively thrilled to be taking part in Alexander’s little plan.

Alexander returned the smile before following the rest of the family upstairs, little Liza still on his hip. There was much to do and little time to accomplish it.

* * *

It was becoming quite late when Eliza stepped out of the nursery some hours later, satisfied that Liza was safely asleep. The upstairs hallway was quite dim, but candlelight flickered underneath the closed door to the boys’ chamber. Taking a deep breath, she began to approach the door, intending to remind Johnny – for she had no doubt that it was dear Johnny – that it was time he put his book aside and went to bed.

“Mama?”

Eliza stopped and turned to find Philip standing at the stop of the stairs. “Yes, dear?”

He took a step forward and then gestured behind him. “Papa asked for you to come downstairs,” he told her. His gaze shifted to the door behind her and he rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell Johnny to go to bed,” Philip assured her, coming closer and moving to slip past her.

“Did your father say what he wanted?” she asked him. “And why has Angelica not come up yet?” She had not heard her eldest girl retire to her own room.

Philip stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her. Even in the darkness, Eliza could see the shiftiness of his expression. “Oh, um, she’s helping Papa with something.”

“And just what, Philip Hamilton, is your sister assisting your father with?” Eliza asked, her voice low and stern. She was not blind. She had seen the conspiratorial whispers that had been going on throughout supper between her husband and two oldest children. They had been up to something, but Eliza had not been able to discover what, having been occupied with the rest of the family’s doings.

Her eldest son was eighteen years old, considered by society a man grown, but Philip was still her son. He still snapped to attention when his mother used that sort of tone of voice. “I, uh,” he stuttered, “I really couldn’t say, Mama. I think it has to do with whatever Papa wanted you to come downstairs for.” Before she could question him further, Philip threw open the door to the large room he shared with his brothers, hurried inside, and slammed the door shut again. Behind it, she could hear him snap, “Blow out the damn candle, Johnny!”

Eliza would have scolded Philip for using such language toward his brother, but her mind was already turning toward what was happening downstairs with her husband and son. Sighing, she turned on her heel and swept down the hallway, making for the stairs.

As she descended, she saw that the front hall was still well-lit by several candles, and she could see a similar glow coming from the parlor. “Alexander?” Eliza called out as she stepped onto the landing. 

“In here, dearest,” Alexander responded from the parlor. Eliza stepped into the parlor doorway and her eyes widened as she peered into the room.

The sofa, chairs, and tables had all been pushed from their normal places throughout the room to stand against the wall, leaving the center of the room completely clear. Alexander stood there in that vast empty space, facing her with a beautiful smile on his face.

“Come, my love,” he said, his voice soft as he held out his hand to her. 

“Alexander?” she asked even as she walked forward to meet him. As she approached, music filled the room and Eliza’s eyes flew to the piano over by the window. There sat Angelica, her back to them both, her fingers dancing over the keys as she began to play a familiar tune.

The Allemande.[1]

“May I have this dance?” Alexander asked her, his hand still poised in front of him.

Eliza gawked at him. “You…” she trailed off, her eyes sweeping around the room. “You did this so we could _dance_?” she inquired.

He beamed. “Clever, isn’t it?” He was clearly very proud of himself.

She continued to stare at him, at his sunny, cheerful smile, and Eliza could feel herself melting. How was it that he could still make her fall in love with him anew even after nearly twenty years of marriage? Eliza huffed a small laugh, and without further hesitation, she laid her hand in his.

They had plenty of room to move in the parlor, and they were well-practiced in their movements, having performed this dance many times over the years. Eliza always felt lighter than air whenever she danced with Alexander, and as they held each other’s gazes, she could almost feel the years falling away, and they might well have been two young people again, dancing for the first time in an assembly in the midst of an army camp.[2]

The mix of fond memories, a loving present Eliza would not exchange for any other life, and Angelica’s sublime musical skill all made for a perfect evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] An 18th century dance. I found a [demonstration of it on YouTube](https://youtu.be/c3ay1kAK0YA) and it looked so lovely and thought it would be perfect for Alexander and Eliza’s little surprise date night, as assisted by the amazing, talented Angelica. 
> 
> [2] See Chapter 18: First.
> 
> This ficlet was written by request of one of my reviewers, who wanted to see something that featured Angelica Hamilton. I wasn’t all that attached to the story idea I initially had for this day, so this was slipped in instead. I felt it only fair, since little Eliza Hamilton also had a chapter featuring her (and she also insisted on making a small cameo in this one too, the adorable little tyrant), and the boys too had had their moment earlier on. Now all the only one left is Little Phil. *shifty eyes*


	29. Nap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander comes home to the Grange and finds that things are not entirely as he left him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 29\. **Nap**

The Grange was such a welcome sight, Alexander thought as he stepped out of the barn. The trip had not been an overly long one, but it had still been highly unwelcome. He had not wanted to leave Eliza or the children, but there had been no avoiding it. Still, at least he was home now. With the gig put up and the horse comfortably settled, there was nothing to stop him from entering the house and rejoining his family – the only place he wanted to be, and the only people he cared to see.

As he approached the house, however, he heard the sound of children laughing coming from the garden. Smiling, Alexander bypassed the front door and took the path around to the back of the house. There, he found five of his children. Alex had Liza by her hands and was swinging her around in circles, much to her delight, if her thrilled shrieks were any indication. James was on the ground not too far away, clearly having been wrestling with William, who now sat atop his brother with a triumphant grin. Johnny was also present, but was seated under a tree, his head bent over a book. 

That just left Eliza, Angelica, and little Phil unaccounted for. Angelica, he knew, had gone to Albany to visit her grandparents, but surely Eliza would be out here with the rest of the children? Though autumn was rapidly approaching – he would need to begin the preparations for them to move into their house in the city soon – the air was still plenty warm enough. Surely there was no need to worry about the baby catching a cold?

“Well, well,” he called to his children, “here you are, quite the merry party! May I join you, or is this by invitation only?”

All five of them immediately froze at the sound of his voice. Alex lowered Liza safely to the grass, and she promptly leapt back up to her feet and threw herself toward Alexander. William also abandoned his position on top of James and raced to him. Even Johnny put his book down to come and greet him.

Alexander laughed as he swept Liza up into his arms, and he ruffled William’s already unruly hair after settling her on his hip. His three older sons approached at a slower pace, one they likely thought was more dignified than the excited leaping about of the younger children. _Oh, how eager they are to be perceived as men instead of boys_ , Alexander thought fondly.

“Welcome home, Papa,” James greeted. Alex and Johnny echoed the welcome.

“I’m very glad to be home, my lambs,” he responded. Pressing a kiss to Liza’s temple, Alexander glanced around at their surroundings. “Where are your mother and little Phil?”

Alex and James shared a look, their expressions growing more serious, and Alexander straightened, growing concerned. When they didn’t respond immediately, he narrowed his eyes. “Boys?” he prodded, his tone growing sharp with warning.

It was William who spoke up before his brothers could. “Mama’s inside with the baby,” he told him. “Mama said we could play, but it had to be outside so Phil could sleep.”

“Oh, well, that’s not so bad, is it?” Babies napped all the time, after all. Still, James, Alex, and even Johnny now still had solemn expressions.

“Phil’s been crying all night,” Johnny said. “He won’t sleep. So Mama tries to get him to sleep during the day. She’s been upstairs most of the day with him. The doctor was here this morning.”

A nervous, painful knot began to form in Alexander’s stomach. “I see,” he said slowly. Was something wrong with Phil? Was he ill? Was that why Eliza had summoned Dr. Hosack? None of her letters had intimated that Phil was sick.

He gestured for Alex to take Liza from him, which, to the boy’s credit, he did without hesitation. “Why don’t you continue on here?” Alexander suggested. “I’ll go inside and check on your mother and Phil, and see about a little snack before supper.”

The suggestion of food gained him enthusiastic agreement from William and Liza, and even Johnny appeared interested, though he continued to do his best to imitate the more laid back, knowing reaction of his older brothers. Providing them with the most reassuring smile he could muster, Alexander then turned on his heel and made for the back door. As he hurried up the steps and entered the house, his thoughts raced.

Eliza had not had an easy time of it when she had been carrying Phil. Even before… Even before Philip’s death, her health had been precarious enough that Dr. Hosack visited several times a week. The dreadful blow of Philip’s sudden loss had been devastating enough that the physician had ordered her onto near total bed rest for the duration of the pregnancy. It had been nearly two months before they’d even been sure the baby was still alive. 

When Phil was finally born, just shortly before Alexander had moved the whole family out to the Grange for the first time, the reactions had been nothing short of hysterical relief. Though the labor had been difficult, Eliza had come through it as well as could be expected. Phil had all the appearances of a healthy babe, and did not seem to have been harmed by the terrible shock his mother had suffered while she carried him. 

As he made his way toward the front of the house, slipping through the yellow parlor to the front hall, Alexander spotted their hired girl, Nan, coming down the stairs from the second floor, carrying a large laundry basket.

“Mr. Hamilton,” she greeted when she spotted him as she reached the landing. “Welcome home, sir!”

Alexander managed a small smile for her, even as his eyes remained focused on the stairs. “Thank you, Nan. When you have a moment, could you ask Mrs. Georges if she would arrange a small snack for the children and bring it out to the garden please? It’s not too close to supper.”

Nan nodded and she turned the corner to take the steps down to the lower level of the house. “Of course, sir.”

That taken care of, Alexander started up the stairs, taking two at a time. Coming up to the landing, he immediately rounded the corner and hurried to the door to his and Eliza’s bedchamber. The door had been left slightly ajar. Placing his hand on the doorknob, Alexander took a deep, calming breath before pushing the door open.

His eyes immediately went to their bed. Eliza lay curled on her side, facing a large circle of pillows. Her eyes were open and focused upon the pillows, but then turned to him as he appeared in the room. Her dark eyes, which had faint dark circles around them, brightened and a small, weary smile came across her face. Slowly, she sat up, being careful not to jostle the bed as she moved. Standing up, she quietly moved a few pillows, enclosing the circle around the sleeping babe in the middle. She then made her way toward him, a finger pressing against her lips in the familiar warning to stay quiet. Alexander nodded, and then he followed her back out into the hallway.

Once the door was shut, he and Eliza moved back down the hallway, coming to stand before the large, ornate window at the front of the house. “What’s happened?” he demanded, taking care to keep his voice low. “Is he ill? Was that why Hosack was here today?”

Eliza blinked, surprised at being on the receiving end of a barrage of questions instead of the loving, tender greetings she was usually granted when he returned home. “What?”

“Phil,” Alexander elaborated, waving his hand back toward their bedchamber. “The children said he won’t sleep, that he cries all night. What’s wrong?”

She stared at him, and then sighed. “Oh, darling,” she said, taking her hands in his and squeezing them tightly. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing that can’t be mended, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

Eliza looked around, and then nodded to two of the chairs that were situated outside of Angelica and Liza’s chamber. They settled down in them, hands still clasped, and she began to speak. “Phil hasn’t been sleeping well at night, in his crib,” she explained. “But he’ll sleep perfectly well during the day when I make a place for him in our bed. He’s also had a mild rash on his skin, which is why I sent for Dr. Hosack.” She glanced over her shoulder toward their bedchamber. “He thinks that Phil is having a bad reaction to something in his crib, perhaps the feathers in the mattress. The doctor gave me a salve for his skin, which is already helping. He’s sleeping even better in our bed than he normally has.”

Alexander took a deep, steady breath, considering his wife’s explanation. He knew that sometimes people did not react well to certain things in their daily lives. His brother, when they had been very young, had not been able to abide cow’s milk, though he had eventually outgrown that intolerance, much to their mother’s relief. Alexander had even heard of some ladies not being able to bear the sensation of certain fabrics or dried dyes on their skin.

“So, Phil will be all right, then?” he finally inquired.

Eliza smiled at him and raised a hand to his cheek, brushing her thumb over the skin. “Yes, dear. Dr. Hosack says that it is a mild reaction, though he recommended that we throw out the entire mattress and scrub the crib thoroughly before Phil sleeps in it again, to be safe.” Amusement flared in her eyes. “He sleeps very well in our bed, and seems to like your pillow the best. He always grabs onto it when he wakes.” Eliza laughed. “Perhaps he finds his papa’s scent soothing.”

A reflexive smile came to his lips in response to his wife’s laughter. Even now, it was a relief to hear her sound so happy, after all that she had endured. 

They sat together like that for a few moments, content in one another’s presence, until Eliza said, “I should go and check on him. I think it helps him to rest if I’m there.”

“May I join you?” he asked impulsively, standing up as she did. When she stared at him, surprised, Alexander could feel his cheeks heating up a bit and he added, “It’s still some hours ‘til supper, and it’s been a long trip.” He smiled at her, feeling unaccountably shy for some reason. “I’ve missed you.”

Eliza’s eyes softened as she gazed at him, and then nodded. “Of course.” Tugging on his hand, she began to lead him back to their chamber. “Quietly, now,” she whispered.

Alexander shed his coat, waistcoat, and shoes as soundlessly as he could after they reentered their chamber, leaving them on a chair nearby. Eliza had already returned to the bed, resuming the same position she had been in when he had first come upon her. Alexander carefully climbed onto the other side, curling his body around the circle of pillows. This allowed him a clearer look at his tiny son. Phil’s skin did indeed have an unusual pink tint to it, and he could see a few raised spots, though thankfully, nothing that had the look of smallpox or any other such disease.

He didn’t reach out to touch the sleeping babe, though he dearly wanted to, if just to reassure him of his continued health and existence. Alexander turned his head toward Eliza, and found that she wasn’t looking at Phil, but at him, her expression gentle and loving. Silently, she reached out with the hand that was closest to him, the one outside of the pillow circle. Alexander grasped it without hesitation, holding onto her as tightly as he could. Then, as one, they turned their eyes back toward the fragile life between them, their last child.

_We are here, my little one,_ Alexander thought. _We are here, and we love you. Stay with us._


	30. Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment on a cold winter's night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30\. **Lullaby**

It took several moments for Alexander to register the sound that had woken him from his slumber. By the time that he understood that his newborn son was crying, Eliza was already out of bed, wrapped in her dressing gown, and padding across the chilled wooden floor to the crib. Alexander sat up in bed, and he shivered when the blankets fell to expose him to the cold air. _No wonder he woke up_ , he thought as he fought the urge to dive back under the warmth of the counterpane and wait for his Betsey to rejoin him. _He must have been freezing._

Instead of cocooning himself in the warmth of their bed, however, Alexander forced himself to get up as well. Eliza had risen from bed to tend Philip, even though he personally thought she ought to still have been resting easy and recovering. If she could do that, just scant weeks after giving birth, then he could drag himself out of bed to stoke and tend to a fire that clearly needed attention. Besides, it was hardly the coldest he’d ever been. Morristown and Valley Forge still vied for that honor in his opinion.

Thankfully, the room had been kept amply supplied with wood next to the fireplace, so Alexander was not required to go searching through the dark and silent house for a few sticks. Instead, he knelt before the fireplace and began to poke at the ashes, seeking to rekindle at least a few sparks that would set alight the new logs. As he worked, his also gave part of his attention to Eliza, who was humming as she worked at a small table to change Philip’s clout. It wasn’t the first time he had heard Eliza sing or hum this tune, nor was she the only one he had heard it from. Since his arrival from Yorktown, Alexander had also heard Mrs. Schuyler sing or hum it to little Caty, who was approaching her first birthday.

The flames slowly started to lick strongly at the fresh firewood, and the rising heat slowly began to beat back the winter chill. Pleased, Alexander turned to find Eliza lifting Philip off the table where she had changed him. Rocking him, she continued to hum the same tune as she approached the upholstered chair next to Alexander and near to the fire. She sat down there, careful not to jostle Philip. Once she was settled, she switched from humming to singing softly.

The words were in Dutch, and Alexander instinctively translated them as Eliza sang. “ _Look, the moon peeps and spies through the window. Have the children already gone to bed? Yes moon, they’re lying in bed. Good, tomorrow will be a new day of playing and learning._ ”[1]

Alexander did not move from the floor, instead settling down more comfortably until he leaned against both the chair and Eliza’s legs, resting his head on her knee. She sang the same lullaby over and over again, and Alexander might have fallen asleep there along with Philip, lulled by his Betsey’s sweet singing, had he not still been a little chilled and longed to return to the comfort of their bed. When he noticed that Eliza had gone silent, he reluctantly raised his head from her knee to look at her.

The room was dark, of course, but the fire, now burning healthily in the fireplace, cast a warm glow over her that, combined with the image of her sitting there holding their infant son, gave her what he could only describe as an holy appearance. _Madonna and Child_ , Alexander thought, suddenly filled with awe.

“He’s asleep again,” she whispered, and suddenly Alexander was brought back to consider the practical after contemplating the divine. Nodding, he got to his feet, careful to make as little noise as possible. Leaning over her, he gently took Philip from her arms and carried him back to his crib. Eliza stood and followed, and together, they tucked their son securely back into his little bed, ensuring that he would stay covered for the rest of the night. For a moment, they stood together over the sleeping babe, and Alexander laid his arm across Eliza’s shoulders, pulling her against him and kissing her forehead. 

Satisfied that Philip would not suffer a chill, they returned to their side of the room and crawled back under the covers. Their absence had left a chill to the sheets, as the heat of the fire had not fully penetrated this far just yet. Alexander shuddered as the cool linens made contact with his skin and hurried to pull the blankets over both him and Eliza. She must have sensed his discomfort, because Eliza immediately scooted closer to him on the mattress, cuddling up against him. He smiled instinctively, as it was always a delight to feel his Betsey’s body so close, whether it was done with amorous intent or not. 

It took some doing, but eventually they had made themselves comfortable wrapped in each other’s embrace. Lying in bed, Alexander’s fingers played idly with a few strands of Eliza’s hair that had come loose from her braid and out from under her sleeping cap. “It was a beautiful song,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” she replied, nuzzling in close under his chin.

“Is it a family song?” he asked. “I think I have heard your mother sing it to Caty.”

“Mm hmm,” she confirmed, and he could hear the drowsiness in her voice. “Mama sang it to all of us. She claims it has never failed to put a restless babe to sleep.”

Alexander hummed an acknowledgement. He said nothing further, and within the next few minutes, he heard her breathing slowly deepen as she slipped into slumber. Tired as he was himself, Alexander wasn’t too far off from doing the same. As he did, however, he could have sworn he heard another voice, perhaps of a higher pitch than Eliza’s, singing a different, but no less soothing, song that was so familiar to him…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] [Maantje tuurt, maantje gluurt](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lullaby#Dutch), which Wikipedia describes as an “Older Dutch lullaby.” My apologies for any inaccuracies.


	31. Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for something completely different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 31\. **~~High School~~ Different**

_Who Keeps Your Flame?_ | A Hamliza Fanmix, ft. songs from the musical _Hamilton_ | _Hamliza Month 2020_

  * **"You walked in and my heart went boom!"**
    * _Helpless_ , by Philippa Soo, et al
    * _Enchanted_ , by Taylor Swift
    * _Perfect_ , by Ed Sheeran 


  * **"My Eliza's expecting me."**
    * _Yorktown (The World Turned Upside Down)_ , by Hamilton OBC
    * _For You_ , by Keith Urban


  * **"I don't say no."**
    * _Say No To This_ , by Lin-Manuel Miranda, et al
    * _She Don't Have to Know_ , by John Legend
    * _Buy Me a Rose_ , by Kenny Rogers (ft. Allison Krauss)


  * **"You have ruined our lives."**
    * _The Reynolds Pamphlet_ , by Hamilton OBC
    * _Babe_ , by Sugarland (ft. Taylor Swift)
    * _Let It Rain_ , by David Nail
    * _Stars_ , by Grace Potter & the Nocturnals


  * **"Just let me stay here by your side."**
    * _Hard to Say I'm Sorry_ , by Chicago
    * _It's Quiet Uptown_ , by Lin-Manuel Miranda, et al


  * **"Who keeps your flame?"**
    * _Fields of Gold_ , by Sting
    * _Over You_ , by Miranda Lambert
    * _Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story_ , by Hamilton OBC


  * **Bonus Tracks**
    * _Burn_ , by Philippa Soo
    * _Best of Wives and Best of Women_ , by Lin-Manuel Miranda and Philippa Soo



[L I S T E N](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLWJCbiwAL8PeP4rbsGtbrROpDqgef2tv2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone who read, left kudos, and/or left comments here! I have had so much fun with this collection, and the response has been absolutely delightful! Thank you again! :)


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